Dust and Echoes
by DasCheesenborgir
Summary: Tattered banners and wilting flowers, bleaching corpses and wispy cobwebs. Whatever she was chasing after, it had long left her behind. Nothing. Just dust and echoes.
1. Stride the Corridors of One's Mind

**Multi-chapter story this time, though 'multi' might be a bit too liberal… it's really more of another one shot, just split up into more chapters because it'll transition better. It also gives me more time to slack off between segments :P**

**Oh yeah, almost forgot. People seem to really like this whole disclaimer business, and I have heard some pretty scary stuff about the Games Workshop legal team… and then there was that 'Scrolls' fiasco with Bethesda as well… k fine. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Warhammer or the Elder Scrolls. **

**Also, Nightwish lyrics. And the newly added chapter titles happen to be song names as well, but I'd really rather not have to list all the bands they belong to especially at the beginning of each chapter so just take my word for the fact that I don't own those either. (They can't sue me for that, right?)**

The dimly lit hallways shuddered with every step, his massive shadow splayed across the grey stone walls in the soft candlelight.

The crimson eyepieces of the Black Templar's helm were fixed on the back of the vampire in front as she anxiously paced down the halls of her former home, his sword arm tense and ready to strike her down at the slightest sign of treachery.

Though Mortis would never outright admit it, wandering through the ruins of Castle Volkihar with only a vampire as company put him on edge. At least before there were competent men and women by his side that he could tell would not hesitate to plug a crossbow bolt between her eyes at a given moment, even if their presence wasn't entirely necessary; it did ease his discomfort a little knowing that they were honest vampire hunters, even if some were xenos.

Aging wood groaned in protest as Serana hurriedly yanked open a rotting door, the flash of splash of blazing ruby pupils in the dim as she cast a nervous glance back towards him causing the grip around his blade to tighten even further.

But of course, as with anything on this damned planet, it didn't last for long. Both Isran and Serana (though for different reasons) agreed it would be best for him to accompany her alone. The Dawnguard leader seemed to detest the idea almost even more than he, but Isran had admitted that he needed the extra manpower anyways for a raid he had planned out. Something about rescuing a priest if he recalled correctly.

The small black cape dangling on Serana's back flittered out of his vision as he squeezed through the doorway, the obsidian hull of his power armor scraping noisily against the stone archway. A low growl escaped his lips as he found himself wedged inside of the door, servo motors moaning with exertion as he struggled to free the rounded pauldrons from the grip of the decaying arch. He sneered as Serana took a tentative step towards him, as though she was considering trying to help but wasn't sure if she should.

Not that he would have willingly accepted the aid of a heretic anyways, but her unusually anxious and more hesitant posture ever since entering the castle ruins only served to fuel his ire.

With a yank, he tore his right side free, taking a chunk of the wall with him in a cloud of moldy dust as he stepped into the well-furnished room.

"You know, if you were any louder, we might as well be knocking on the door with a battering ram," she chirped in an attempt to lighten the mood.

"This entire expedition was your idea, not mine," he snarled. "If your coward of a father did not hide behind his foul sorceries, I-"

"Okay, okay, I get it," she snapped.

"Then stop talking," he growled, "and keep moving."

In all honesty, his thinly veiled aggression was as much meant to reassure himself as it was to her that she was no ally of his. Working with xenos, he could barely stomach enough, but accepting the aid of a Traitor could only be seen as heresy of the highest degree, no matter how necessary it was.

She thankfully chose not to argue, turning and surveying the room, her mood quickly deflating once more. A deathly silence fell over them as the debris settled on the red carpet.

Mortis ran his eyes over the furnished room, sumptuous multicolored cushions and velvet fabrics, an oaken coffin sitting in the corner, bookshelves in the dim and unnatural candlelight lined with dusty tomes. It was a far cry from the cobweb infested and ramshackle halls they'd passed on the way in. More importantly, it seemed there were no enemies about.

Serana glided over to what seemed like a nightstand, running her thin pale fingers over the carved bronze of a candlestick alight with a soft flame that looked as new as it had millennia ago.

"This is Mother's study," she said wistfully, before letting out a mirthless chuckle. "Funny. I never pegged her for one to care much about decoration; but I suppose you start growing a bit more attached to it once you start spending more nights locked away in your room than with your own family."

He remained silent, caution and disdain keeping his curiosity in check.

"Come on, there has to be something in here we can use."

She hurried over to a bookshelf, her earlier discomfort now replaced by frantic urgency as she thumbed through aging volumes in search of… something.

Mortis still didn't know what she expected to find at all on this wild goose chase; she may have said that her mother would know more of this 'prophecy' that was apparently so important, and he'd seen enough to believe that much… but it was clear that she still had ulterior motives.

She'd been deathly silent during the entire trek through the dank ruins, slogging through stray beasts and critters without so much as dropping a single sarcastic quip. As thankful as he was to be rid of her constant joking, he was put off by the shift in behaviour.

She was muttering something under her breath as she flipped through tens and dozens of books at a time, unceremoniously dumping them onto the frayed carpet in heaps.

He observed with caution, dry flakes of sundered flesh and bone peeling off of the black blade he held at the ready. She may have had demonstrated some degree of independence from her family, but that didn't mean he had to place his trust in her. A heretic was a heretic, and he wouldn't have been surprised if all of this was just an attempt at gaining power for herself.

"Damn it, nothing."

She tore into a set of drawers with reckless abandon next, trinkets and jewellery joining the mountains of books on the aging carpet, her gaunt and pale face creased with worry.

She was becoming more and more unstable, more reckless; sooner or later she'd slip up, reveal her true intentions, and then he would have her dead to rights. Not even Isran could argue against him if their precious 'asset' could be proved to be working against them.

_You're damn paranoid, _spoke a voice in his head. The scowl he wore beneath his helm only deepened, the zealous fires in his hearts flaring in response to the cold and logical voice.

As much as he hated to admit it, she was… surprisingly, even bordering on irritatingly, naïve at times. Not exactly a characteristic shared by most ambitious and power-craving heretics.

She hissed out curses as she began to overturn entire desks, furniture and decorations crashing to the ground in a cacophony of splintering wood in the wake of her mad search.

So while it was clear enough she had her own reasons for finding her mother, it was also rather evident that they did not pose a threat to humanity as her father's aspirations did.

That certainly didn't mean he had to like it though.

The room fell silent as a brass candlestick clattered against the wall, one last whimper signalling the end of a frustrated maelstrom of noise. Serana heaved a heavy and tired sigh, her bony fingers ruffling through rows of unkempt hair as she paced back and forth in the middle of the room.

"This isn't right," she said shakily. "Mother- she wouldn't have just… _left_ without warning… where else could she go?"

Her movements grew more and more jerky as she continued, hysteria beginning to set in. He stood impassively as she began to ramble, thoughts and worries pouring out in a verbal flood.

"She must have left so- no, that's not right, she'd never leave anything behind anything important- but then why in oblivion did I come here in the first place!? She's not even here anymore and I've just wasted my damn time on some gods forsaken-"

Her ranting screeched to a halt as she sucked in long breaths, wiping away a few beads of sweat from her brow. She said nothing as she looked to Mortis, but the look in her eyes (which always seemed to glow brighter every time he looked at the tainted irises) told him she expected some sort of input from him.

"Perhaps," he began, "you did not know your mother as well as you think you did."

"No," she said defensively. "I _know _her. This has to be where she is; there's nowhere else."

"The grave, perhaps?" _Where you and all your craven ilk belong- _he managed to catch himself before that slipped his tongue. This wasn't the time for petty threats.

To his surprise, she actually chuckled at that.

"You really know how to make someone feel better don't you?"

"I'm not here for the sake of your comfort."

"Yeah. No need to remind me."

More silence.

"But no," she continued. "You don't just kill Mother that easily. She's too damn stubborn to die."

"Well if she's not here, where else could she be?"

"What do you think I've been trying to ask you?"

The short oral firefight ended as quickly as it started, an uncomfortable silence characteristic of all the conversations they held falling over.

Her emotions vented, Serana began to pace back and forth again, slowly narrating her thoughts with a tighter rein on the turmoil churning inside her.

"Okay, but then what about the moondial? Why go through all the trouble of putting in such a complex safety measure if…"

She trailed off as something seemed to catch her gaze. Before Mortis could respond, she dashed over to the dormant fireplace and wrapped her hand around an unlit candle to its side.

"What are y-"

The silver handle of it snapped neatly to the side as Serana yanked on it, the carved stone of the 'fireplace' shifting and falling aside.

He thought he saw the faintest shadow of a grin grace her lips through the dust.

**0-0-0 **

The stagnant chill that lingered in the dank laboratory was blasted aside in a gale of unholy energies, deep violet tendrils snaking out of the empyreal abyss that blossomed out of the circle at the centre of Valerica's study.

_Emperor preserve us… _

He had little experience of traversing otherworldly planes, but if this 'Soul Cairn' was anything like the Warp…

Images flashed through his mind, blood red fountains erupting from sundered earth, hordes of red-skinned beasts pouring out screaming with bloodlust, blades aflame with devilish orange, the maddening whispers of daemons snaking through his mind...

But rather than whispers, he heard screams. Agonizing, choked and incomprehensible screams, carried by shrieks of ethereal wind howling out of the gaping maw.

"By the blood of my ancestors…" Serana stepped up next to him, breathless with anticipation as she stared into the portal.

"She actually did it. Created a portal into the Soul Cairn…"

As though she had entirely forgotten Mortis was standing beside her, she took a tentative step forward, the thin wall of purple flame parting around her as she descended.

_Emperor watch over me. _

Even the parchment strips on his armor seemed to shirk away from the daemonic jaws, fluttering in the gale as he stepped forwards.

Nothing he'd experienced in the two and a half centuries of war he'd endured could have prepared him for the pain that seized him then. Unable to even open his mouth, he fell to one knee on the hovering staircase, vision alight with incomprehensible waves of impossible colors falling upon each other, the screaming souls of the lost flooding his ears as the tendrils of violet gripped him, swirling around his battered armor and tunneling into his spirit.

He couldn't think, couldn't speak, drowning in the Soul Cairn's ravenous hunger as the tides of Oblivion threatened to pull him under.

It likely would have done just that if not for his present company.

By the time his senses returned, he was lying sprawled out on the stone floor, gasping out ragged breaths through his mouth grill as he clenched his hands into fists, sharp spikes of otherworldly pain still tearing through his body.

The first thing he heard as the howling orchestra of shrieks receded from his ears was the panicked and breathless rambling of Serana, the first thing he saw as his eyelids creaked open that deathly white face of hers, even more ghastly in the purple light, one hand clutching some sort of potion, the other tugging uselessly at the side of his helm. It didn't last for much longer as feeling returned to his dry lips.

The vampire leaped off of him as a deafening roar of anger boomed out of his voxcaster, stumbling back in shock as Mortis' armored bulk shot up, claymore still clutched tightly in his right arm and seemingly seething with the same rage slipping between the grills of his helm.

Fortunately for her, he still retained enough common sense to realize she had not purposely tried to lead him to his death. Not that it helped much.

"You almost had me killed."

"I didn't rem-"

In a flash, the tip of his blade was pressed against the soft flesh of her neck, unwavering.

"Your momentary lapse in memory nearly cost me my life." To her credit, she wasn't the least bit intimidated by the fact that he could sever her head from neck with but a flick of his hand.

"_Almost,_" she clarified, her own voice beginning to rise alongside his._ "_And if I wasn't here in the first place, you'd be dead for sure."

She stared him down, her eyes alight with blood red anger of her own. "And I didn't drag your ass out of there to be threatened and abused. Put the damn sword down, you're going to need a better excuse than that to get rid of your _asset_."

As far as he was concerned, her mere existence was reason enough. How many creatures of her ilk preyed on the unsuspecting oh this land? How many cultists and Traitors had he seen butcher and slaughter his comrades, in the name of the same blasphemy that she had dared devote herself to? He ever slightly reared the blade back, ready to thrust it forth and rip her wretched head off her shoulders. That was what she was. Just another heretic. But before he could do anything, that same, cold and logical voice held his arm in place. _Enough. _

With a snarl, he pulled his weapon back, but did not sheath it.

Standing down at a heretic's whim. How the mighty had fallen.

But if she died, then so did any chance that he would get to the bottom of this plot.

"In that case then," he said, voice still dripping with disdain, "how are we to find your mother?"

She blew out a long breath, pursing her lips and beginning to pace again. The steady _clack, clack _of her boots against stone set the rhythm for her grating speech.

"Okay, you remember what I said before about the Soul Cairn? How it's where victims of being soul trapped end up?"

He nodded bluntly, gritting his teeth and knowing that he wouldn't be able to hold back his anger if he spoke.

"Well, it's… hungry for lack of a better term. You're a living thing with a soul, and therefore it wants it. Simple as that."

"And yet you were able to enter unharmed."

"Vampires aren't counted among the living."

Silence passed the space between them, even the howling portal having had seemed to quiet.

"And you think," he started, "that I would trust you enough to set you loose on your own?"

"I just saved your life," she spat back, her patience clearly whittled down to its last frayed ends. "Don't you come out ranting to me about not being able to put your trust in me."

The eight-pointed star pinned to her corset blazed in the unholy light, the sight of the brazen metal again whipping up the blaze of righteous fury within his hearts. _The rewards of tolerance are treachery and betrayal. _

"But," she continued, "there is another way."

She looked up into his empty eyepieces, a glimmer of anxiousness shining in her eyes.

"I mean… I am a vampire after all. I could…"

It took him only a few brief moments to figure out what she would say next. And then, what remained of his self-control finally snapped.

"Never," he hissed.

"It's the only other-"

The rest of what she said was just white noise, words drowned out in the apocalyptic whirlwind of rage that even the cold pragmatism in him was unable to douse the storm of fire.

_"IT IS HERESY!" _

She jumped back at his sudden outburst, searing hot rage seething out from his helm as he began to rant, vox-caster booming with curses and hexes.

"You will _not _corrupt me! Never! I would not submit myself to the whims of some false god, become a slave bound by their damned gluttony for blood, cowering from the light of day if the Immortal Emperor himself decreed it! Filth! Animals! You _creatures _are a blight upon the existence of mankind! I-"

He halted mid-sentence as Serana's fist collided with his chestplate, a loud _crack _following in the wake of flesh and bone on blessed ceramite.

Her knuckle dripped with blood, fingers digging into the palm of her hand as she spoke, voice shivering with barely contained fury.

"You have… _no _idea how easy I'm trying to make this for you. Vampirism isn't just some damned disease you spread to anyone, it's a _gift_."

Now practically snarling, she continued before he could think of a response. "One that both I and my mother almost died getting- and here I am, giving you a chance to follow me into the Soul Cairn, follow through with your _mission, _whatever the hell that is, saved your ass just moments ago, and now you're here threatening to kill me!"

"Only a worm that is too weak to follow the Emperor's light would stoop to such blasphemous depths," he shot back.

"Too weak? _Too weak? _Do you know how hard it is to go each day without feeding just so those Dawnguard fanatics don't try to put my head on a spike, to follow you around in the blazing sun, running only on this-" she snatched up an ornate bottle swirling with red liquid from the nearby table, "diluted _piss_!?"

"You-"

_"SHUT UP!" _

The bottle smashed against his chest, shattering into tiny fragments as scarlet fluid washed over the already bloodstained skull at the center of his armor.

He stood in silence, glaring at her menacingly but in actuality at a loss for words. He made no motion as she stormed past him in a flurry of whipping red and black cloth, striding out the door onto the castle balcony and slamming the door behind her.

After another moment of standing listlessly, he impassively brushed off the milky red blood from his armor and set himself down in a corner, pulling his prayer book from his belt.

**0-0-0 **

Bitter night wind whipped through her black hair, a small flurry of razor snow following in its wake pricking at her cheeks. The stagnant coastal chill would have driven any regular mortal to their knees in a shivering heap, but as a vampire, it was just what Serana needed at the moment.

Her right hand felt like it was on fire, blood running freely down her knuckles. It didn't feel like she broke anything, but it didn't discount the fact that punching a suit of armor she'd seen shrug off blades and fire certainly wasn't one of her better ideas. Not that she could help it, there was only so much she could take before her patience wore out.

She closed her eyes, breathing in the brisk midnight air deeply and venting out hot, frustrated breaths to the now softly blowing breeze. She wandered over to the edge, relishing the sharp and biting frost of the snow-powdered railing, her left hand smoothing over the carved stone.

She cast her gaze out into the deep ocean and Nirn's twin moons hanging in the clear sky, swath of colors swirling around the two globes.

She cast the oppressive heavy leather of her hood off of her back, the cloth still soaked with sweat even though she hadn't been wearing it smacking against the ground.

She ignored the rumbling in her stomach as she ran her wounded hand through her hair, the cold numbing the throbbing pain. She tried as hard as she could not to look at the blood, her tongue instinctively lapping out at the thin crimson fluid. Maybe she shouldn't have thrown away that potion either, certainly would have helped curb her hunger.

_Bastard, _she thought. Who the hell was he judge her? Treating her like she was just some common beast, a power-craving fanatic like her father-

_"People fear what they do not understand, Serana. You can't afford to trust anyone out there." _

She supposed Mother had been right in that regard as well, but if anything, it only made the situation even more bitter. For one, it seemed like her cynicism was rubbing off on her pretty quick.

Another gale swished through the sweaty mop of hair, a sickly bone hawk landing on the railing in a flurry of feathers. A pang of nostalgia struck at her heart as she looked into the black eye sockets of its bleached skull, the bird letting loose a shrill squawk as she reached out to stroke its head before flailing its thin wings and gliding back into the night.

_Mother let out a knowing chuckle as her daughter began to wail again, reaching futilely out with a stubby arm into the cloud of fluttering loose feathers. _

_ She always had to pull her back from the railing though, lest she stretch out too far and fall down. _

_ "Hush, Serana," she would say as she tucked her into her arms, fragrant perfume hanging from the lush silk nightgown. "Hush. It'll come back again." _

Then she'd cry and cry some more, and then Mother would sing a song for her.

She scoffed. Those were the days, and they certainly didn't last for long. Father always loved to hear her sing, but the more time went on, and the farther apart they all drifted, the quieter those nights became.

She blinked a few times, flexing her fingers in spite of the grinding pain shearing across the bones in them. What had happened that made all of that go away? The moonlit walks on the shore that Father sometimes took them out on? Chasing torchbugs in the garden with Mother?

_I wish for this nighttime to last for a lifetime-  
The darkness around me, shores of a solar sea… _

Her lips curled into a bittersweet smile, more memories flooding back. None of them good ones, but she continued to smile anyways, a mad façade to keep an equally fake smile plastered on Mother only to have both disappear when Mother started ranting about Father again.

How would she possibly react to seeing her again? Would she herself even have the courage to face her again?

_Sorrow has a human heart, from my god it will depart  
I'd sail before a thousand moons, never finding where to go…_

A few thousand years was a long time for someone to change. Maybe she did miss her? Regret her decision?

The more cynical side in her, becoming more and more bold each day, chuckled disdainfully at her naivety. Of course not. Mother was a stubborn bitch.

And so that begged the question as to why she was even here. The Elder Scroll, certainly, but… it seemed unnatural for that to be the only reason she was looking for her own mother. To see her as just an inanimate object, a means to an end, just as dead as the scroll she sought.

Just as she was to her father.

_"I trust you have the Elder Scroll?" _

Her grip tightened on the railing, the brittle stone beginning to crack under her good hand.

She was sick of this damn cycle, passed off from one person to another, just nothing more than a…

_"You're a resource. You're an asset." _

Yes, of course. The Dawnguard. Though in all honesty, misguided as their prejudice was, at the very least in their case it wasn't her own family pushing her aside.

She really shouldn't have expected anything more.

And yet, she had.

What a fool she'd been, waltzing casually into an Inn she didn't even know, asking around for vampire hunters or a "tall, black armored bastard" – hell, now that she thought of it, she still didn't even know his name.

Yes, indeed. What a damn fool she was. Casually passing off jokes towards him and his comrades, brushing off their barbs and pricks towards her nature; she could already hear Mother lecturing her about avoiding strangers like she was still a child, how she couldn't afford to trust anyone.

Maybe that was why she so very much _wanted _to trust him at first, just some vain attempt to show that she could do things on her own, didn't have to listen to Mother, prove her wrong for once.

_No, no Serana. Not like that. Like this. Listen again. _

_I wish for this night-time to last for a lifetime  
The darkness around me, shores of a solar sea…_

She blew out a puff of steam, watching the small clouds of breath brushing away in the night. Yes, it was only natural that she wanted to learn how to sing at one point, but she never got it down, could see the disappointment in Mother's eyes even as she heaped false praise and sweet nothings onto her. Another one of those ridiculous 'tests' failed, another mark on the list proving she was nothing more than a helpless little princess that couldn't look out for herself.

She couldn't help but smile again at herself, the little girl in her still trying to impress Mother after all these years. Track her down all on her own, blasting apart shambling skeletons and malnourished spiders, even managing to convince a zealous vampire hunter into helping her on her quest- like hell if she was fooling anyone.

_Oh how I wish to go down with the sun,  
Sleeping-_

The voice fell silent, and only when she noticed her mouth was still open, moist tongue drying out in the cold, did she realize that it was her ownvoice. Or was it?

_Weeping- _

Oh yes, that was her voice. As wailing and off-key as it had been a few thousand years ago, no doubt, probably not even good enough to keep the disappointment off of Mother's wrinkling and scrunched face.

_With you… _

Her mind quieted, her world fell back into silence. A lonely night, not too different from the eve Mother had finally taken her away from home.

And here she was again, full circle. How fitting.

She sighed, rubbing at her eyes with her unscathed hand. Steeling herself, she turned to face the doorway, knowing she'd have to deal with her 'companion' sooner or later before she could even think about confronting Mother.

Maybe she'd been unfair, certainly more rash than she should have been. Granted, he was denser than a brick wall and just as stubborn, but her outburst sure as hell had done nothing to help situation. If he wasn't willing to be a reasonable human being, then it would be up to her to keep the relationship as civil as possible; no doubt she wouldn't have to put up with all this crap if she'd just done this alone, but it was too late to turn back now.

And though she didn't quite want to admit it, anything would be better than having to face down her Mother alone.

As fate would have it though, he'd already made the first move.

There, standing like a statue in front of the doorway was him, his scowling helmet watching her with crimson eyes. She must have been more caught up in her pondering than she thought if he of all people was able to have snuck up like that without noticing.

She could only hope he'd calmed down as much as she had, because she only had two hands after all, and there wasn't anywhere else to run off this time except down.

**0-0-0 **

"How long have you been standing there for?"

"Long enough," he said as neutrally as he could.

When Serana didn't respond, he found himself in the very rare situation of having the responsibility of continuing the conversation.

"I was waiting for you to finish."

She cocked an eyebrow at him, those red eyes even brighter in the night.

"I did not wish to interrupt you."

"That good, huh?" It seemed as though she had recovered from their argument quickly enough, if the smirk spreading across her lips was any indication.

"I… believed it was of a good quality, yes." It was an answer honest enough. He'd been quite surprised, at a bit of loss of words when he'd walked in on her, never imagining that a… vile creature of the night could modulate their voice in such a soft, yet strong manner. It was a far cry from the holy chants and choirs of the Ecclesiarchy that he'd had the rare honor of witnessing a few times, but…

He brushed aside such thoughts. He hadn't come for a musical performance.

"Well, I suppose that's good enough then, at least coming from you," she said, a genuine laugh emanating from her this time.

It was also rather jarring how quickly her mood shifted.

"Are you certain that there is no other option?" He pressed the question as lightly as he could, anxious to return to the task at hand but not seeking to force another confrontation. He had… hardly come to terms with the decision, but realized that sacrifices had to be made.

_The bulwark against the terror. _

If this was truly the Emperor's will… then he would carry it out, however distasteful it was. Not that he was a stranger to sacrifice, but there was a great difference between merely laying down his life and becoming what he hated.

But as watched Serana begin to pace again, a small spark of hope struck.

"Well…" with the hesitant tone she spoke with though, Mortis could already tell it wouldn't a much better option.

"There _might_ be, but it's incredibly risky and I don't even know if it'll work."

He didn't dare ignite another verbal firefight by accusing her of hiding information from him before, but quite frankly it probably wouldn't have been worth it anyways. "Tell me more."

She stopped for a moment, stooping down to pluck her discarded hood from the ground before continuing.

"The Soul Cairn wants a soul, so we'll just… pay the toll another way. I could partially soul trap you, offer that up instead. It should be enough to let you in, but you won't exactly be in top shape while inside."

"_Should?_"

"Well, keep in mind it was Mother who taught me this and I haven't exactly had much of a chance to use it on anyone before. From what I've inferred though, it… _should _work."

He sighed, mind beginning to re-weigh his options. It wasn't much more appealing than becoming a vampire.

Not only that, but even though she hadn't dared say it, it was clear the process could either leave him physically or mentally crippled, possibly even dead. Why else would she have been so hesitant to bring it up in the first place?

But by the Emperor, he was being given another option. One that did not require him to forsake his purity, even if it did put his life in danger.

"And you are confident you can do this properly?"

"Fairly, I wouldn't have brought it up otherwise. But it's not going to be an… easy thing by any means. You were there, felt what it's like to have something playing around with your soul; it's going to be painful, and it's going to last. I don't even know if we can get your soul back once I trap it."

"Any more painful than being cursed with tainted blood?" He spat before he could even consider what to say.

Her face hardened at that, and for a moment he almost thought he'd have another fight on his hands. Thankfully enough, she seemed to be more tolerant in general compared to him.

"Look, I think you've made it pretty clear about where you stand on this whole vampirism thing and I can understand that, but it'd be easier for both of us if you kept it a bit more to yourself, yeah?"

"You are not my ally."

"I'm not your enemy either. Vampires aren't all 'bloodsucking fiends' you know."

Though he would've preferred not to admit it, she had shown him that much. Any true servant of Chaos would doubtlessly have left him to his death.

"Very well," he stated flatly and admitting defeat. "I don't see any other option. Soul trap me."

"Are you sure? There's still some time if you want to think it over-"

"I've had time enough," he interrupted. "Now, I'd prefer to get this over with as soon as possible. The quicker we can find your mother the… 'easier this will be for both of us'."

She chewed the bottom of her lip, as though this decision was difficult for her as well, before finally agreeing.

**0-0-0 **

"Are you ready yet?"

"Just give me a second…"

_Nirnroot… nirnroot… damn it, where in Oblivion does Mother keep these things?_

An unsettling hissing sound began to waft over the wooden alchemy table, rank odor following in the wake of thin grey smoke.

Serana's eyes widened as she noticed she'd completely overheated the mixture, forgetting to add the frost salts first- the painkiller she'd been trying to make was little more than a bubbling green mess filtering through pipettes. _Gods damn it. _

"Alright, forget it. You're just gonna have to deal with the pain."

Probably deserved it too, it was damned impossible to work with an armored giant's eyes boring into her back; a snarling helmet that basically said _'I'm going to kill you, heretic' _everytime she glanced back at him was not exactly the best motivation either.

Mortis didn't respond, merely solemnly nodded and stood up straighter as she approached. Her already soaked sleeve slapped against her forehead as she wiped beads of nervous sweat from her brow.

_This'll be fine, this'll be completely fine- _

And how in _Oblivion _was she more anxious than he? It wasn't as though she was the one having a possibly life-threatening spell cast on her that would damn her to an eternity of-

_Not helping. _

Right.

"Okay then, just… hold still." As if he needed to be told that.

"I'll try to make this as painfu- painl- painless as possible," she stammered out, preparing the spell in her hand just as Mother always taught her.

She gulped as she stood barely a meter away from him, only then realizing just how massive he was. And as it turned out, staring into the empty eye sockets of a winged skull wasn't much more comforting than staring into the man's helmet.

_Right… maybe I should try casting it on one of his limbs? Would that even do anything? Would it even work then? What if he doesn't have a soul at a- don't be ridiculous, of course he does, otherwise he wouldn't have- _

_ Shut up. _

Before she even knew it, her hand shot forwards with its palm open, sickly violet tendrils lashing out and entwining his black armored frame in a cloud of swirling purple.

**0-0-0 **

Serana had been right about one thing- the process hurt like all the Warp.

His body had gone completely numb again as the sorcery filtered through his spirit, pilfering his soul and ravaging his mind, his memories, his hatreds, his treasures- everything, violated.

But it all paled in comparison to the end of the ritual, the raw physical and mental agony that shrieked through his flesh and spirit with such force he had nothing left in him to scream. His armor managed to keep him perfectly upright as he silently howled with pain, the entire process lasting for what seemed like hours before it all abruptly was torn away.

The excruciating agony filtered out, but a throbbing pain continued to pulse in the back of his head, the tips of his nerves, his mind; but he was alive, and no less an Astartes as he had been in flesh just minutes before.

Spiritually though, he may as well have just sold his soul to the Ruinous Powers. Well, he supposed in a way he just had, though to a lesser extent of course.

He only managed a quiet grunt at the end of it all, too drained to even offer any words.

"Well, it looks like it worked," she said breathlessly. "Wasn't as bad as you might have thought, yeah?"

Her expecting smile dissipated as he stared emptily back before pivoting around and striding over to the portal, taking a tentative step forwards.

A cold shiver ran up his spine as the lavender wisps lapped around his armor, like stepping into a cold pool of water but without the physical comfort knowing that he could defend against it. The important thing though, was that Serana's solution seemed to be working.

She brushed wordlessly past him, glancing back only once before she stepped into the abyss.

Those irises, ghastly ruby glinting in royal gold were the last things he saw before he too was taken in by the Soul Cairn.

_Emperor forgive me. _


	2. Her Ghost in the Fog

**Pfft... I hate writing dialogue.**

**0-0-0**

Broken spires and withering trunks, blackened stone and bleached dirt, the desolate auditorium echoed with the wailing symphony of the Soul Cairn.

_"Arvak!" _

_ "My humanity! Give me back my humanity!" _

_ "Why? Why me?" _

_ "Appaered out of nowhere… he just appaered… like a- a- a… green stranger…"_

Blank names and empty words, as dead as the shattered parodies of buildings that they echoed through.

A sharp spike of dread, followed quickly by anger shot through him as he pondered if any of his Brothers had suffered a fate such as this. Even the Emperor could not shield every one of his servants from the machinations of the Warp. But he saw nor heard anything that would suggest so, in fact that now that he thought of it surely if Sovngarde was the promised afterlife, he would have found his comrades there?

Mortis tensed as a swirling purple wisp twirled towards him, bringing his blade up instinctively as it harmlessly fluttered by. The empty eyes of a ghostly silhouette followed him intently as he stomped forwards behind Serana, slamming a lid down on newly raised and unsettling questions that would only serve to distract him.

_Carry the Emperor's Will as your torch, with it destroy the shadows. _

He repeated the mantra over and over in his head, ignoring the continuous and relentless chill brushing at his insides.

She moved at a brisk pace, and he struggled to keep track of her movement through the thick fog; his helmet sensors had died weeks ago, and even with the enhanced sight that all Astartes had it was difficult to make out her form through the swirling mist. He was given a very brief moment of reprieve, however, as Serana led them up a staircase and onto a raised platform that stood above the fog.

His grip tightened on his sword as she slowed to a halt, cape fluttering behind her as an chilling wind whipped across the grey wastes to the blackened stair she now stood on. His shadow enveloped hers as he stepped up to her side, following her solemn gaze to the citadel in the distance that rose up from the drab ashes. Great shimmering beams of light shot up from its structure, a watery sheen of swirling energy surrounding it.

He waited as patiently as he could, standing as still as the black stone towering around him as he waited for her to lead on. He took the moment to regulate his breathing rate and meditate in silence, doing his best to keep the ever-present throbbing in the back of his head at a low.

_I have endured worse than this. I have not just forfeited part of my soul only to succumb to the hunger of this forsaken and damned land now. _

Scanning the cracked and warped earth himself, gazing across forests of bones and lakes of purple mist, he found himself wondering how they would find Serana's mother in such a mess. Glancing over to her, he could tell that she was thinking the same thing. And she was taking much too long to think for his liking.

He chose not to interrupt her though, deducing that it might very well spark another argument he had no energy to follow through with, and he imagined she was tired of such trifles as well.

In the moment of silence, he found his thoughts turning uncomfortably towards the vampire. Her eyes darted back and forth across the shattered landscape, her face scrunched deep in thought, boot tapping against the ground at a continuous, staccato beat. It was as though he wasn't even there.

She was anxious for certain, on edge; never had he seen her lash out like she had earlier, never broke that icy cool surface of snide remarks and sharp barbs even in the face of enduring hostility. Perhaps he did not know as much as he had thought about her.

He narrowed his eyes at her back as she continued to stare out into the abyssal sky, surely now dwelling on matters other than where to find her mother.

"Is there a problem?" He posed the query neutrally as possible, but judging from Serana's tone it seemed as though he managed to fail in that regard.

"My long-lost mother who locked me away thousands of years ago is somewhere in this gods-forsaken pit, most likely hidden away very well and knowing her, is more likely to kick my ass right out of here again than settle down and talk so, yes, there is a little problem at hand here."

Silence passed between the two again, Mortis choosing his next words carefully.

"And so," he began, "what do you intend to do once we find her?"

"We're here for the scroll, aren't we?"

"Yet you concern yourself more with how she will react to your presence."

"She's my mother," she hissed. "Of _course _I'm more concerned about her than some damn trinket! I'm not like-"

She fell silent then, biting back her next words and shaking her head.

When Mortis did not respond, she blew out a frustrated sigh and shakily ran a hand through her unkempt hair.

"Look it's… complicated. If you really want to know, it can wait until later; otherwise, if she doesn't have the scroll, she'll know where it is, so there's no need to worry about that, okay?"

"And if she refuses to cooperate?" Ever since her little outburst Mortis had a sinking feeling that retrieving the scroll from her mother would be much more difficult than just kindly asking; the things Serana had said in the past few minutes all but solidified that thought.

"Oh, she will," she spat. "She doesn't have a choice anymore."

Somehow, that didn't do much to reassure him.

**0-0-0**

A shrill, ghostly scream pierced her ears as she sent a barrage of ice bolts hurtling into the creature's spindly form, the brittle bones of the mistman crumpling into a blossoming cloud of inky black. A flick of her hand, and another's shrieks were drowned out in a torrent of angry hellfire.

A snarl creased her lips as she narrowly sidestepped a shambling battleaxe, the blunted and chipped, but heavy edge barely grazing her side. She punished the obstructing wrathman swiftly, dry rotting flesh perforated with foot-long ice spikes. A boot to the bleached flesh of its face silenced its incessant rasping for good.

She whipped around in search of anymore undead that dared stand in her way, only to find that her associate had made equally short work of what few stragglers that had escaped her wrath. She flexed the fingers of her still wounded hand, a few sparks of angry flame dancing at her fingertips.

"You see anymore?"

He shook his head, sloughing off the grey flesh that caked the side of his blade.

Spikes of pain shooting through her right hand reminded her of its condition, and she (with some hesitation) snuffed the eager spheres of magic from her palms.

"Keep your eyes peeled," she commanded. "These damned things keep popping out at the worst times."

Preparing herself for some sort of verbal riposte for whatever trivial reason again, she was a little surprised when her companion gave only a curt nod and hoisted his blade in a ready stance. Not that she would complain about it, she already had enough on her mind to worry about some zealot spewing bullshit.

_Come on now, that's not really fair is it? _

Well, if he was so quick to judge her, why would she be expected to act any differently to him? Her scowl deepened. That sounded exactly like what Mother would say.

Hissing out a hot breath she started marching again at a brisk pace, boots crunching against loose ash and dusted bone.

The farther she dove into the swirling mist though, and the larger the oppressive black walls of the towering citadel grew, the more her frustration gave way to anxiousness. She clenched her teeth and fists in an attempt to still the shaking shivering through her body, trying to calm the bubbling stew of emotions that churned and whipped around in a confusing mess.

She sighed, scratching at her scalp and still at a loss for what to think, legs propelling her forwards faster and faster as her brain became quickly overloaded with thought processes.

And before she knew it, she stood at the steps leading up to the citadel, obsidian walls standing silent guard and staring down at her, immovable, steadfast, oppressive and-

"Are you alright?"

The booming, distorted voice of her follower snapped her out of her thoughts.

"W-what?"

"You appear to be on edge. Is something wrong?"

She didn't answer, silently wishing that she hadn't made her discomfort so obvious. If somebody she barely even knew could tell she was as stable as a skooma addict at the moment, how in Oblivion would-

"It's about your Mother, isn't it?"

After another terse moment of silence, she reluctantly answered: "Yes."

"I… see."

She bit back an absurd chuckle, the sheer oddity of the situation boggling. It was clear he was making an effort to care, however poor the attempt was. Less than an hour ago he seemed ready to lop her head off; now she had been considering trying the same on him just minutes ago.

_Nice job, _a voice quipped sarcastically. _Bitch enough about your problems to someone and sooner or later they'll figure it out. _

She turned to face him, that scowling black helmet with red eyes hardly any more comforting than the unearthly stone walls looming over her but…

Hell, he deserved a straight answer. He was hardly friendly to her, but he had just given up part of his soul following her in; even if he was only here for the Elder Scroll, he had a right to know what he was getting into with her mother.

Taking a deep breath and collecting her thoughts, she prepared to give him a verbal retelling of her life story. Well, a greatly shortened and simplified one that omitted just about all the important details that would've made it a 'life' story-

_Just shut up and talk already. _

"Like I said, it's complicated. We… didn't exactly part on the best terms. But I imagine you might have figured that much out by now."

He remained silent, just barely tilting his head and gesturing her to continue.

"She wasn't always like that though; I was certainly closer to her than Father, but… something changed in her as well."

Her voice rose alongside her ire, but she managed to restrain herself from launching into another rant.

"They were so damn focused on each other, some absurd quarrel over something, power- anything, and I was just caught in the middle like some pawn. Stupid, helpless Serana, wasn't even allowed to leave the castle or something bad would happen to her, or Mother might not have the chance to turn her against her own father-"

_You're talking too much. _

Too many details he didn't need to know, and too much explanation that would have to go with that; but she had gotten stirred up again, and all the things she had wanted to just scream aloud for so long were rising to the surface again. _Soon, _she thought. _Save it for Mother. _

She was surprised when he actually pressed for more.

"But why did she have to lock _you _away as well? Wouldn't it have made more sense to take you with her?"

_Yes, _she thought, _why _in Oblivion did she have to do that? Was she too weak to take along? Too stupid? Too naïve? All of those little 'tests' set out over the years all just proving those damn same points over and over; whatever Mother's reasons were, she wasn't 'ready' to hear them.

She sighed and shook her head.

"I don't know. She never said why, just… stepped in one night and led me across the sea in a little dinghy to Dimhollow. The rest, you know."

Silence.

"So you came back for answers then?"

She looked him dead in his 'eyes', wondering what he must have thought under that black shell, if he saw just some stupid vampire princess on a fool's errand. Or maybe she was still just an 'asset', worth even less than that damn bundle of magic parchment everyone was after. Not that it mattered anymore though; now he knew.

"Yeah, I guess so."

Silence passed between them again, just as it always did when neither knew what to say next.

"Come on," she said. "There's not much use just standing around here talking anymore."

**0-0-0 **

He could see Serana noticeably tense as she mounted the last step, hesitating ever so slightly before striding forwards to the shimmering barrier, bright violet light dancing off of her hard set face.

"Mother."

He crested the top of the stair himself and there he saw her, Valerica, hunched over what appeared to be an alchemist's table. From a distance, it was almost impossible to tell her apart from her daughter, the two garbed in the same clothing, their hair, though worn differently, sharing the same midnight shade that contrasted so with their ghastly white skin; the differences became more apparent as she whipped around, her aged and weathered face coming alight with shock as she saw her daughter for the first time in ages. "Serana?"

Her voice was surprisingly clear through the barrier, firm and regal, commanding despite the surprise and soon, panic that was evident on her pale face.

"What are you doing here? Where's your father? Has he-"

"No, he doesn't know we're here. We came here to stop him- make things right."

"We?"

Serana was holding back, he could tell; she was speaking too calmly, voice as cold as the grave she first crawled out of. And it was clear she was struggling to keep her mask up too, for he could seethat her hand, still coated in dry blood, beginning to twitch as Valerica finally noticed him.

"You brought a _stranger _here?"

"He-"

"Have you lost your damn mind, child?"

"No, I-"

"You there," she called to him, "step forward. I would speak with you."

Mortis spared a glance to Serana, her fists clenched tightly as though she was expecting this to happen. She didn't say anything to object though, so he deduced it would best to comply to her mother's demands for the time being. He wordlessly stalked over, halting a few feet away from the barrier, the lithe form of Valerica twisting and dancing in front of him in the rippling light.

If she was any bit intimidated by the clear height difference, she didn't show it.

"And just who are you then?" She began, voice dripping with disdain as he towered over her in silence. "Some stupid brute with too few brains to understand what you've gotten yourself into? How did she coerce you into helping her I wonder? How m-"

This would be difficult, he could already tell.

"I am no puppet of your daughter," he growled. "She assured me that you would know where the Elder Scroll was."

He hoped by being as direct as possible, he could avoid more… 'touchy' subjects and therefore conflict. He was wrong. _Hope is the first step on the road to disappointment; _how very true that was in this case.

"Wonderful," she breathed. "My daughter enlists the aid of a protector whose first intention appears to be greed."

"Do you even know what you are seeking, fool? Or you just some other idiot's errand boy?"

He had to admit, being judged by an ancient vampire wasn't one of his prouder moments. Enduring it, alongside the continual strain on his spirit, was doing more than simply chipping away at his patience. His grip tightened on his sword handle as he struggled to remain composed. As much as he detested having to stand down in such unbridled arrogance (unmatched by even some planetary governors he had the honor of meeting), he knew it would be a bad idea to antagonize her, if she was anything like her daughter.

Still, there was a reason why Black Templars were not particularly renowned for their diplomacy skills.

"I'm here to put an end to your husband's _blasphemy_."

Her scowl only deepened and he could hear Serana sigh in exasperation behind him. _Perhaps you could have worded that better, _a voice reprimanded him.

"A vampire hunter, even better!" She exclaimed. "It pains me to think that my daughter would so easily place her trust in you, even more so that you'd have the audacity to manipulate her into thinking so."

There was something rather ironic about that, he thought, if what Serana had told him held any truth to it.

"So what happens once you've claimed the scroll then? Are we just two more beasts to be put down, no different than the hundreds of others you've already murdered?"

An uncomfortable silence passed as Mortis considered the question, having not had done so before. A few hours ago, he undoubtedly would have with fervent fury driving his response but…

"_It is not one's race or heritage that defines them, but their actions. You cannot condemn an entire race for the actions of only one." _

"_We're not all 'bloodsucking fiends', you know." _

First xenos, now heretics. What kind of twisted world was this?

He should say something, he supposed, lie, even, to convince her he was there to help; he didn't exactly possess a silver tongue though, and when his train of thought started churning, it wasn't so easily halted.

Valerica took his apparent silence as an affirmative, scoffing and returning her attention to Serana.

"Look at this. This man would cut you down without remorse, and yet you willingly allow him to follow you? Have you learned nothing of what I have-"

The weathered bits of self-control that had been holding back Serana finally snapped, and with it went any hope of concluding the confrontation in a timely and hospitable manner.

"Learned? Do you know what I've learned from you? You, who would lock away her own daughter without so much as telling her why, and expecting her to accept this? Hell, this damned stranger that would 'cut me down without remorse' has done more for me than you ever have!"

It seemed that he had vastly underestimated just how bitter her feelings were if she really meant that. Then again, he supposed that huma- less conditioned beings had a tendency to be hyperbolic at times.

Though it was rather unsettling just how _human _her reactions truly were.

"You-"

"No! You _listen_ to me, damn it! I'm sick of this! I'm sick of being treated as just little girl that can't handle herself, I'm sick of being just some pawn in you and Father's mad little game, I'm sick of you not telling me anything, I-!"

She was heaving with exertion, her mother too dumbstruck by her outburst to reply as she caught her breath and continued relentlessly.

"You never considered for one moment if _I _thought being locked away for an eternity was the best course of action, never told me _anything_ that could help me understand, you were so _focused_ on working against Father that you completely forgot about your own daughter! All I ever wanted was for us just to be a family, and that's all I still want; enough with this prophecy bullshit, just-"

Her voice was shaking now, and Mortis was certain she was on the verge of tears.

"I've already lost him to this ridiculous quest for power; I don't want to lose you either," she finished solemnly.

Neither of the two spoke for a long time, leaving Mortis overlooking- and intruding on, he felt- a bittersweet family reunion. He glanced back and forth between Serana and Valerica, the similarity between the two more apparent now that they shared the same morose and reflective moment of silence.

Just a mother and her daughter. Were they anything like the depraved blasphemers and Traitors that he was sworn to cleanse and purge?

He took the time to think over his own course of action, having half a mind to leave them to their own devices for the time being.

As fate would have it though, he did not need to make a choice as Valerica finally spoke up again.

"Serana, I'm…" she paused, blinking several times and appearing to fight back tears herself. "I'm so sorry."

A shaky sigh escaped her lips, her daughter still refusing to speak. "I… you're right. I've allowed my hatred of your father to blind me for too long."

Serana just nodded again, pale face dead and devoid of emotion. After yet another period of silence, she returned to the task at hand.

"The scroll, Mother. We still need to find it."

"What about him?" She motioned to Mortis. "Do… do you truly think he can be trusted?"

"Family or no," replied Serana firmly, "I came here to stop Father, and so did he. He may not be the kindest man, but… I trust him."

Turning again to face Mortis, Valerica seemed to take some time re-assessing how to address him before speaking.

"Your intentions are still somewhat unclear to me," she stated flatly. "But for my daughter's sake… I will trust that you do not mean harm to us."

After a tense pause, a moment of thinking, she finally caved in. "If the Elder Scroll is what you seek, I have it with me."

_Thank the Emperor. _

"What of this barrier then?"

Thankful for the change in topic, she straightened her face and her voice returned to a more business-like and collected tone. "When I entered this place I intended to strike a bargain with its custodians, the Ideal Masters."

He'd never heard of such beings before, but already he could tell he wouldn't like where this was going.

"I sought refuge here, and I offered to provide them with the souls that they so hungered for in exchange; of course, I never quite considered how much value they would place on my own."

"So they trapped you here?"

She nodded. "Most likely not their first choice, but I'm not so easily brought down by a few shambling suits of armor. I managed to hold off their Keepers, and so instead they used them to trap me here."

"And so these Keepers…"

"Find them, and put their souls back to the grave they belong in. That should bring down this barrier, and the Elder Scroll is yours." Taking a moment to size him up, she added, "Between you and my daughter, their masters will be lucky if there's even a soul left once you're done."

"Where are they?"

She strode over as closely as she could to the edge of the barrier, pointing out in the distance to looming silhouettes of cracked spires.

"They tend to those towers, drawing on the souls of the unfortunate to power this barrier. The mist is heavy, but you'll never lose sight of those structures. Find your way there, and the rest is trivial."

_Since when was anything here 'trivial'? _He thought cynically. He didn't complain though, exchanging a glance with Serana, wondering if she wished to leave a few parting words before they set off; she didn't.

"We'll be back soon then," he finished. Valerica nodded, seemed as though she wanted to say something to her daughter but held her tongue. They could have a more proper reunion once this business was finished.

He never felt as though her eyes left either his or Serana's back as he trudged forth into the mist once more.


	3. The Somber Grounds of Truth

He grunted as the jagged head of the dragonbone axe crashed into his left pauldron, a shower of sparks following in the wake a loud _clang _as hardened bone clashed with ceramite. The Keeper, a writhing black mist encased in unearthly armor hewn from the bones of dragons recoiled back, narrowly dodging both the honed edge of Mortis' blade and a spear of raging flame from the side.

Slithering back with a grace that did not suit its bulky form, the Keeper slipped into the inky shadows of the broken parody of a corridor as a flurry of ice bolts zipped by where it had stood moments ago.

_Damn creature, _he snarled as he retreated hastily back to a more defensible location, the bone dusted edge of his blade held out in front. He slowed as he heard the heavy breathing of Serana mere steps behind him, the twinkle and crackle of her sorceries the only other sound in the hall.

His eyes darted back and forth in the murky darkness, muscles tensed and sense in overdrive; he silently cursed himself for being so reckless, charging so quickly into the fray without properly assessing his foe. He'd vastly underestimated this 'Keeper' for certain, under the impression that it would be no more durable or agile than the shambling undead he and Serana had crushed in droves on the way there.

Though he'd yet to have had a chance to test the former theory, for the creature, despite standing as tall as he and clad in heavy armor, had managed to simultaneously dodge both his and Serana's relentless assault; no easy feat considering latter's magical aptitude and an Astartes' typical reaction speed. Its blows were worth little against his armor, but Mortis knew sooner or later it would find a weak point somewhere in the chipped and worn ceramite shell.

The pulsing well at the end of the hall cast a strobing violet light across the brick walls, shadows dancing in and out of his vision, whispers and screams beating on his eardrums.

_Carry the Emperor's Will as your torch, with it destroy the shadows. _

He'd been through worse than this. He would endure.

Serana had stepped up next to him now, his armored frame dwarfing her in the narrow space; it would restrict his movement by some, but gave her a cleaner line of fire. Having an extra set of eyes in the dark, though he would rather not admit it, helped as well; nothing was worse than fighting an enemy he could not see.

Though given recent events, those Keepers weren't the only things he had to fight. _Enough. Worry about that later. _

He continued to scan the desolate hallway, searching for the telltale glowing purple 'eyes' of the creature.

What happened next was out of pure instinct, the slightest shift in the air, the softest hiss and creak in the churning maelstrom of muted screams setting off alarms in his nerves; he pivoted around with his blade held out high, scraping against the stone pillars and coming to a screeching halt as it collided with the murderous axe head of the Keeper.

It loosed the faintest growl as its weapon was batted aside, dancing back at inhuman speeds from a swift riposte that could have sundered a boulder. Hissing, it leaped back once more into the shadows, slipping away once more, smooth charcoal tendrils slipping around its armored form. Or so it thought it would.

A bolt of blazing ice caught it before it could so much as make another move, the azure lance tearing into the bleached and tanned plate of its chestplate, spearing through the dragonbone effortlessly and lashing eagerly at the swirling abyss beneath.

If those glowing orbs floating in the plume of black seeping out of its 'neck' could show fear, Mortis imagined that would be exactly what they would be doing.

A shrill scream echoed across the worn pillars as Serana swiftly followed up on her initial hit with a torrent of flame, primal and raging tongues of searing heat slashing at the Keeper's armor and churning black flesh.

The warped and bent plate of its armor was shattered as Mortis buried the tip of his claymore into its chest, hardened ebony shearing through the softened bone like butter.

With one last twist of his hand, he tore the blade out of the raging inferno in a geyser of dancing orange light. The Keeper's form crumpled in a heap of ravenous flames, eating at the wisps of cloudy ink vomiting out of the gashes torn out of its armor.

The light at the end of the hall dimmed, and the chorus of whisperings and deathly screams quieted a little; a sharp _crack, _followed by a rolling wave of thunder boomed throughout the entirety of the Soul Cairn, and then the ruins he stood in were plunged into darkness.

Once again, he found himself wishing that his helmet had retained its sensors, for even with the Occulobe implant, he could only barely make out the shape of Serana beside him, let alone the walls and doorways in the ruin.

Ever the one with initiative though, Serana was quick to rectify that. With but a flick of her hand, she conjured up a small orb of blazing blue light, painting the walls around them in a sickly shade of cyan. He suppressed a shudder of revulsion as he noticed just how close he stood to her, those scarlet eyes all the more noticeable painted on the death white flesh of her face. There was nothing sinister that hid behind those two orbs, no glint of maniacal bloodthirst, no malevolent ambition, sickening lust that tainted the irises of the heretics he was so used to butchering; and that was what unsettled him the most.

They trudged out of the blackened structure in silence still, neither having had spoken since they left Valerica; he had much to think over himself, and he imagined the same was the case for her.

A vampire was a vampire, a heretic a heretic and nothing more than a depraved servant of false gods; that much had, at least, never changed up until then. Or so he would have liked to believe.

_"By the Gods, what are you doing? You can't just kill them all!"_

_ "They are savages and blasphemers that have turned to Chaos. They have no place here in the Reach." _

_ "They're still human beings with damned families! You can't just have them all burned to ash because of the actions of a few radicals!" _

_ "That is exactly what they would have you believe; spare one, spare any, and they will not hesitate to slit your throat the moment your back is turned. Such is the way of the Traitor and heretic. You cannot afford to show mercy to any, for the rewards of tolerance are treachery and betrayal." _

It had been easy enough to dismiss Ralof's protests at the time, but…

He glanced back to Serana as she marched up the staircase solemnly, no doubt still brooding over her family issues.

How many mothers and daughters just like her had burned by his order? How many of their brothers and husbands wept over their ashes? How many of them wept for their sons as they were rent limb from limb and cast over the crags and into the bloodstained rivers?

_"Acceptable casualties." _

She cast him a fleeting glance as she edged by his frame and proceeded forwards, continuing to light the way with her unholy sorcery.

Of course. Those had been Castellan Zacharias' exact words when he had once been a softer-hearted and younger soldier that questioned…

What was it again? A platoon of Loyalist guardsmen executed after prolonged exposure to the Ruinous Powers, despite the fact that they had fought so valiantly at his Brothers' side for weeks? An entire colony vaporized to ensure that the tainted bastion of Chaos that had rooted in it did not spread?

There were too many instances to recall, too many times when Zacharias or even an Inquisitor accompanying them on a Crusade would say the same thing:

_"There is no such thing as innocence. Only degrees of guilt." _

Because even if their deaths could have been prevented, it did not matter then. His hands were clean, and the blasphemers had brought their fate onto themselves. He had always accepted that without question, and just because this woma- this _creature_- had shown the briefest moment of weakness did not mean that should change. But despite his best efforts to deny it, it had changed.

"Are you coming or not?"

He was snapped out of his reverie as Serana called to him, the ethereal candleflame in her hand snuffed as she stood at the exit out of the ruin.

"Yes, I just… needed a moment to catch my breath. I'm coming now."

The Forsworn were dead and the past was in the past; time marched ever onward and there was no point in dwelling on that. And yet he still clung to past as it were his only bastion, the will of the Emperor the only beacon to guide him in a land where smoke and mirrors distorted the lines between right and wrong.

_Damn her, _he thought. Damn her for leading him into this mess, damn himself for not simply cutting her down the moment she stepped out of that fething coffin, damn-

He suppressed a sigh as he squeezed out of the decaying doorway, briefly picking up his pace to make up for the short distance he had fallen behind Serana and diving again into the lake of unending mist. This was no time to go throwing blame around. The fact of the matter was that he was in a hellhole pit looking for an Elder Scroll, and he would not leave without it.

The rest… he would deal with later.

**0-0-0 **

Keeping a lid on his thoughts had been harder than he imagined. With the otherworldly rasp of the Soul Cairn still eroding his wits and fortitude, he barely managed to march for a few minutes before more uncomfortable thoughts began to slip past the barrier he had built.

Nothing else had stood to oppose them so far, the only beings aside from he and Serana in the suffocating fog the ghostly silhouettes of unfortunate souls, wandering in blindness or staring emptily into the equally empty sky.

Not empty- dead. Dead, bled dry, ravaged by the tremors of war; he did not want to remember, knowing that it would bring back a rush of memories, but he could only restrain them for so long. It was all he saw as he glared through the mist, a land scoured and rent asunder, stony skin cracked by autocannon and bolt fire, great gashes ripped out of the earth from artillery, black smoke from fresh fires still shrouding the reddened skies, gnarled trees and shrubs burnt dry and shattered-

Nostalgia nipped at his mind in the maelstrom of other thoughts and emotions plaguing his mind as he closed his eyes and shut out the incessant whispers and muted screams around him, sickly violet morphing into blazing red as he found himself wandering the dead fields of battle with his Brothers again.

He knew not what this memory was, too many battles had passed by in countless crusades to remember properly, so many blackened and charred corpses, indistinguishable in the blood red haze of distorted memory. Perhaps it was no memory at all, simply images and snapshots from fields of death long trodden folded into one, an entire scrapbook of repressed nostalgia clamoring for his attention.

There were the Apothecaries, tending to the deceased and administering the Emperor's mercy to those too wounded to fight on. Zacharias stood watching over the morbid routine with his usual detachment, helm removed and scarred face set solemnly like the jagged and cracked ground. And then, Otho-

_"…and may the Emperor watch over your souls as you pass on…" _

His eyes snapped open as he heard the Chaplain's reverberating voice again, knowing well enough it was merely an echo long past sounding out again, but so desperately wishing he had not been imagining it. Violet drowned out red once more, and the mist was back in its oppressive gloom.

So different, yet so reminding of the scarred battlefields he belonged on. A twisted and convoluted mockery of his home, where nothing was right and nothing was wrong.

The churning stew of thoughts turned only more bitter as they followed the direction of his gaze to the girl – _vampire _– that continued to trudge ahead of him.

He supposed there wasn't much point in denying that he did pity the vampire to an extent; he wouldn't be questioning himself so if he didn't. It was a heavy burden that she carried, having had suppressed her frustration and anger for so long, working against her own father; he never experienced anything quite like it himself, but could only imagine how difficult it would have been if Otho had forced him into a similar situation.

He watched her intently as she continued to march forth without so much as a peep, her snow white face blank and betraying no emotion, carrying on in steadfast silence.

Was it pity he felt, or perhaps a shred of respect? He'd seen guardsmen break down in tears over dead comrades, strong men and women fighting and surviving for weeks and months on end in filthy trenches lose their minds the moment a friend or loved one was wrested from their grasp. This vampire had just talked to her mother for the first time in ages since being locked away by her, and she'd shed not a single tear during the encounter, and continued to fight with the same efficiency she always did.

Either way, it made him question if killing her was truly the right course of action, made him question a truth that had always been true for a time longer than he had walked the grounds of battle; and it was no easy question.

He spared a glance up into the distance, grimacing as he noted that the next spire was still a ways ahead. He shifted his gaze back to Serana, a stone cold mask of impassiveness etched in her deathly visage. It was… oddly unsettling to know that she was in a state of discomfort, whether or not it negatively impacted her combat efficiency.

It felt like it should be wrong, to show any sympathy whatsoever for a creature of the night, but…

_Feth it. _Now he was just going around in circles.

Her business was hers, and his was his. He had no place interfering in her familial relations.

That was what he _should _have been thinking. But, he supposed, like it or not, her business had, in a way, become his. They shared the same goal, and he needed more details on where she stood in her motivations for helping the Dawnguard now that he'd been given a glimpse into the problems she dealt with.

He supposed now was as good a time as any.

"How do you feel?"

She seemed to be caught by surprise by the question, almost jumping a little and abruptly stumbling to a halt.

"I… what?"

"…now that you've spoken to your mother that is."

He couldn't but wince as she faced him directly, those unnaturally bright red eyes serving as a constant reminder of her corrupted blood. She still didn't respond, staring back at him in what appeared to be surprise. By the Emperor, what had he done wrong this time?

"I… was wondering if you felt any better. After-"

"Yeah, I know what you meant, I just… wasn't exactly expecting you to care is all. Sorry, got a bit caught by surprise."

An awkward period of silence passed as she took a moment to sort out her thoughts.

"It's… it turned out better than I was hoping at least. I was sure she'd just shoot me down but…"

She took a heavy sigh, rubbing tiredly at her sweat-streaked forehead.

"I just had so many things I needed to say to her, all just locked away for so long, bottled up, and I had to get it off my chest. I feel kind of… relieved I think. In all honesty I really had no idea how she'd react. Seeing her for the first time in so long and actually having a chance to talk, it was… nice, I guess."

"But?"

There was another momentary pause before she hesitantly continued.

"You can't just leave something like all this behind so easily. I honestly don't even know if we can be a real family anymore, all this… _insanity_ with Father…"

"What exactly happened with all of you anyways?"

"Ever since he found out about that damn prophecy it's all he's ever cared about. Me, Mother- we just became nothing more than clutter. He was obsessed with gaining more power, and Mother was just as obsessed with working against him."

Mortis instinctively glanced around the mist-veiled surroundings, his own thoughts only becoming more and more clouded as Serana began to pace on the spot again; he allowed her to continue though, half out of a curiosity that had been spurned.

"And there was I, caught in the middle with no idea of what the hell to do while they fought and fought. It was just so… damn toxic."

"Why exactly was your mother so intent on stopping Harkon?"

"I don't know. She never went into specifics, told me that he'd 'doom us all' or something going ahead with it but even that was before things got really bad. There must have been something else that truly set her off, pushed her over the edge."

"Something that she still hasn't told you," he concluded, having an idea of why she still seemed so somber.

"She's always been like that," she spat bitterly. "Never trusted me enough to tell me anything, just kept feeding me her opinions about Father."

"I thought you were against him?"

"Oh I certainly am, but she wasn't being much better."

"I see." He tried to steer the topic away from that matter, the very concept of someone warring with their own kin seeming… unnatural.

An uncomfortable silence fell over the swirling mist again, and Serana's face had set into a gloomy and shadowed expression once more. Only Emperor knew why, but it felt… wrong to simply end the discussion like that. Vampire or no, whether or not he came to conclusion that she should be purged like all the rest, she didn't deserve to have something like family taken from her.

"She cares for you," he stated. "I'm sure whatever her reasons are, she has good intentions."

Like hell if he knew how convincing he managed to sound, but her mood did lighten, even if only a little at least.

"Yeah, I know. I just don't think she realizes that her way's not always the right way."

A slight smile graced her frowning lips, the first sign of contentness he'd seen since they'd set foot in this gods forsaken realm.

"But I guess a vampire mother is still a mother."

A mother and her daughter. No different from any other.

_No, damn you! Heretics- all of them heretics! Nothing more! Let them all burn in the fires of judgement, the blasphemers, the unbelievers- _

"We should continue moving," he muttered softly. "I apologize for delaying our progress. We should make haste to the next Keeper."

She appeared to be a little startled by his sudden proposal, but recovered quickly enough and set off once more, taking the lead with a brisk pace.

**0-0-0 **

She growled as another sphere of fire splashed against the hulking dragonbone shield, the hulking Keeper cowering behind barely even stumbling back from the fireball's impact. Its jagged boots grinded into the bone-dusted stone of the broken stair, eliciting a distorted snarl as a pair of blazing ice spikes embedded themselves into the still burning and warped hull of its shield.

She swiftly danced back around a corner, zipping down a staircase as the murderous teeth of the Keeper's mace clawed into the wall next to where she had been moments ago. It swung its battered and blackened shield around at inhuman speed, a jagged bolt of lightning glancing off in a shower of sparks.

_Damn it, where in Oblivion did he run off to? _

Her right hand lashed out, fingers snapping in a practiced motion in spite of the still throbbing pain in her knuckles, a gout of-

Nothing. The Keeper continued its steady advance as Serana cursed and flailed her hand ineffectively, the suffocated embers in her hand failing to give birth to the torrent of flame she commanded. She barely managed to dodge the next swing, the grimy white teeth of the thing's mace leaving a chilly ripple in the air as it sailed over her head.

Leaping down the next flight of stairs, she winced as she stumbled and caught her wounded hand on the rough stone, tiny pricks of pain bludgeoning her all around as she unceremoniously rolled down.

She was lucky she acted as quickly as she had, catching the looming shadow over her form and leaping to her feet in less than a split second. With a thunderous crash, the Keeper's mace crashed into empty ground as it landed, the hardened teeth biting into the black stone and refusing to let go even as it growled and yanked at the weapon.

The glowing purple orbs in the swirling cloud of mist at its 'head' watched her intently as she snapped her fingers over and over, trying desperately to reignite the spent maelstrom of magic that had already torn scores of undead to pieces.

_Damn it. _Her back pressed against the cold and unforgiving stone of a wall she had sworn hadn't been there on her way up.

Her eyes flicked back up to the Keeper, scraping and grinding bone against stone as it slowly began to loosen its weapon from the ground. A loud crack, and the obsidian bricks shifted ever so slightly, what she could have sworn was a chortle rumbling out from the creature as it relinquished its grip on its ravaged shield to take its mace in both hands, rearing back as it prepared for the final push to pull it out-

_To hell with it. _

What she did next was easily ten times more stupid than punching her armored companion just hours ago, but it was easily also much more satisfying. She winced as her shoulder connected with hardened dragonbone, a lance of pain shooting up her arm following in the wake of a reverberating _crack_. It was hardly noticeable though, as the Keeper stumbled back, caught off balance, armored limbs jerking about wildly with animated awkwardness until it was balanced precariously over the precipice of the tower, a blanket of unending fog lying thousands of feet below.

The mace felt heavy and unwieldy in Serana's bony hands, the worn surface of the handle rough and callous against her palms, but she had to admit it commanded a very satisfying sense of brutality as she swung it in a deadly arc. Sharpened fangs sheared through the Keeper's armor in a shower of sparks, brittle bits of armor flayed off as the mace smashed against its chestplate and buried itself deep inside the writhing mass of black beneath.

With a yank, she ripped the weapon out of its deathly grip on the creature's chest, tearing out a jagged gash of inky mist with it. A shrill screech was the last sound that it made before Serana planted her boot firmly in the gaping wound she had inflicted and promptly sent it tumbling down thousands of feet off of the floating spire it once guarded. Its wails echoed up all the way down until it disappeared into thick sea of fog below, a crack of thunder and splash of lightning across the sky signalling its demise.

She held the mace disgustedly between her finger and thumb, hastily dropping the grimy and black-stained hunk of bone and teeth over the edge after its wielder. "So uncivilized," she muttered.

The rumbling of stone shifted her attention back behind, where the walls that she knew had not been there before slid into the ground, revealing a circular room filled to the brim with shattered bones and heaps of dead flesh. She didn't need to guess who the tall figure still standing in the midst of it all was.

_Teamwork. Whoop-de-doo. _

**0-0-0**

One last Keeper.

This was taking longer than he would have liked already, and those damned beings weren't doing much to speed up the process.

It very vaguely reminded him of facing the Eldar; hiding in the shadows and relying on trickery in a futile attempt to delay their inevitable demise. Such tactics always turned what should have been quick skirmishes into long battles of attrition that grinded on for days, even more vexing and precarious when they had larger threats to deal with.

Much like now. Though he had to admit, the fighting, however trivial it was, kept him focused and sharp, on edge and ready to act, staving off the doubts and thoughts that threatened to drown him in indecision. It was times of quiet between that were the true struggles to be fought.

"What was your family like?"

He snapped back to attention, caught off guard by the sudden question. "Pardon me?"

He slowed his pace to a halt as Serana came into view through the curtain of fog, her bright red eyes staring back at him.

They blinked, and she hesitated for a moment, biting her lip and seeming to consider how to proceed before repeating her question.

"Well, I mean… I've told you a lot about my past and my family. I was… just curious about yours. You haven't really said anything about them."

He remained in dumbstruck silence for a few seconds, letting the question sink in. Very few- no, _nobody_ ever asked him such personal questions, either here or in the Imperium. Even Paarthurnax, who was so insistent on questioning him about his past, had never delved into those matters.

"I…" He never truly knew his biological parents, what little he did remember of them didn't stand out, the old Imperial records that Otho had (with some reluctance) shown him never suggested that they were any more than an average, if slightly more warm, family.

"If you don't want to talk about it I-"

"No. It's not that. Just…"

The dam cracked, a splash of memory brushing against the shores of his mind.

His Chapter was his family, for as long as he could have remembered. Brothers in battle, all sworn to fight and die beside each other. The prayer book felt heavy on his waist, and he tried to repress the wave of nostalgia flooding back. And failed.

He missed them. His Brothers, his Chapter, the feel of a raging chainsword in his hand, a thousand others at his side whirring with the same fervor- it was something he might never be able to go back to again. There had always been a shred of hope at first, that someone, anyone, a patrolling ship from an entirely different branch of the military, another Crusade fleet, _something_, would find him. Days dragged into weeks, weeks into months, and then he knew that he could not leave this forsaken place.

He knew, but the feelings remained nonetheless.

"They were a good family. Courageous, nay, fearless. I…" What could he say? It had taken days of talking to explain the mere concept of the Imperium to Paarthurnax, longer still to outline the structuring of the Astartes Legions.

But he looked into her eyes and knew she cared not about the technical details. Barely a week he had known her, and she trusted him enough to tell him of her past, believed that he placed the same trust in her, enough so that he would give the same information to her.

Did he trust her? Did a heretic, a mutant, deserve his trust? She'd saved his life, whether he would admit it or not, she'd demonstrated she was not the same as the craven filth his Brothers and ancestors warred against for millennia; but she was still a heretic. A mutant, impure and tainted.

But, he supposed, the same could not be said of her intentions.

"…I miss them," he admitted.

She said nothing, face impassive as she nodded and did not bother to waste words on empty condolences.

There was something he felt then, as though an intangible weight upon his chest had been lifted. A sense of relief, perhaps, and he could not say he knew why.

What an absurd moment this was. In the end, it had been a heretic that he parted the existence of his valiant Brothers to in a land where their sacrifice was unknown; he knew not whether to think he had honored them by bringing their name to the light at last to someone who wished to know, or had spat on the name of the Black Templars by betraying their title to the impure.

The silence was momentarily broken as she spoke up. "I… didn't mean to bring up a bad memory."

"You did not." He didn't know how assuring he'd managed to sound, but she accepted his word for it as it was.

"Come on then," she said. "Let's go finish off that last Keeper. I'm sure Mother's getting restless."

"Agreed."

For better or worse, he supposed it didn't matter anymore now. Sooner or later he'd have to go into more detail, for he doubted her questions would be satisfied by the intentionally vague answer he'd provided.

If he let her live long enough to do that.

He picked up his pace, heavy thudding footfalls against the grey ash becoming more rapid as he strode forth briskly, eyes set on the jagged silhouette of the final spire in the distance.

This circular thought process never resulted in anything productive. The sooner he completed the most immediate objective, the better. Everything else, sorting through his thoughts and doubts, could wait until the foul mist of the Soul Cairn no longer shrouded his mind.


	4. Progenies of the Great Apocalypse

**This was just an absolute pain in the ass. **

**I tried something new this time, sounded great in my head but trying actually do it was hellish beyond measure. Just a quick side note following up on that, I decided to take some liberty with the 40k license and tried to extend events that transpired past the established canon- just a quick warning for all you lore fanatics out there, key word is TRIED. **

***sigh***

**Only one more chapter after this (I hope to god), and at least this one's done now, for better or worse.**

**0-0-0**

There was a sense of relief washing over Mortis as he marched up the stairs to the citadel and found his path unobstructed by the shivering barrier from before. The last Keeper had been dispatched with no less difficulty than the other two, and his armor now bore several more irreparable scars.

_It will endure, _a voice assured him. The black paint had been chipped and worn, the ceramite pauldrons warped from innumerable blows, the silver skull adorning his chestplate as scarred as the sneering visage of his helm; yet the armor endured, as it always had.

He must endure as well. It would be a terrible shame to his Brothers for anyone to know that a faithful servant of the Emperor had been outlived by his wargear; the thought drove him, a shot of confidence that he needed to stave off the tendrils of insanity and indecision that clawed at his mind out of the impassable fog below.

_I will endure. _

He mounted the final step, and paid no heed as Serana brushed past him and strode purposefully over the torchlit stone to her mother. The words they exchanged filtered in and out his ears, any meaning that they may have carried in them lost. They spoke coldly and professionally, neither of their faces betraying any emotion.

How unpredictable people could be. One moment they looked ready to break down in each others' arms, now they looked as though it took every ounce of effort to prevent just that.

_And were you any different from that?_

He denied the voice in his mind from speaking again, blocking out the hazy red smoke and embers of the past. Enough time had been spent mulling over uncertainties and misty memories, now was the time to face what few certainties that were left.

The two vampires had ceased speaking, standing in an awkward silence and shifting their gazes about nervously. And as much as Mortis wished to respect the privacy of another family, he wasn't there to oversee a reunion.

"Will you take us to the scroll now?"

A deep chill settled in the already frigid pit of his gut as his voice echoed in the silence, the firm and baritone words twisted and spat back mockingly by the black walls. He did his best to shut out the noise, along with the whispers and screams that nipped at his ears more and more aggressively.

He was tense with anticipation as Valerica nodded, leading the way with short hurried steps that clacked rhythmically against the obsidian floor, the gates leading into the citadel creaking as the stone maw yawned open.

"This way. Quickly."

Mortis was more than happy to proceed, striding purposefully forwards with his blade held ready in the gloomy hall. The passageway was short, but bathed in an unnatural blanket of darkness despite the clear opening mere meters away.

He clenched his teeth as a rumbling roar disturbed the lull of muted whispers and screams he had blocked out, steeling himself even more against the tide of the Soul Cairn. A trick, it must have been, for it called to his memories, the familiarity of it unsettling.

Despite his best efforts, it thundered out again, louder this time, like the signature distant din of Basilisk artillery fire, the Imperial Guard firing them in disciplined volleys that seemed to shatter the very skies with their simultaneous might.

_I will endure. _

Again it came, even closer now, even the impassive stone walls seeming to just barely tremble at the cataclysmic scream of a Baneblade's main cannon, the cacophonic orchestra of shrieking souls seeming to peak as the resounding blast tore apart-

_Damn you, hold it together! _

Serana brushed past him, sparing a brief glance back as he halted to shake his vision free of the maddening blur hounding him.

_Carry the Emperor's will as your torch, with it destroy the- _

Valerica had stopped now as well, the dim light at the end of the hallway casting a ghostly violet hue on her worried visage. The roar came again, and once more it nipped at Mortis' memories. But this time, he realized it was as real as the solid earth he stood on, and he very well remembered what it was the sound of.

"There's a damned _dragon _in here?"

She knew. She must have known, and it was clear from the look in her glowing red eyes (that her daughter seemed to mirror so very disturbingly at times) that she'd, somehow, managed to gloss over the fact.

Her lips cracked open for a fraction of a second but snapped shut moments later, her brows creasing in concentration as she whipped back to face the doorway and turned her gaze skyward.

"Mother-"

Whatever Serana had meant to say, it was drowned out in a deafening roar that seemed to shake the Soul Cairn to its churning and warped core, the walls bending and shivering impossibly.

If Valerica acted just a moment slower than she did, her flesh and bone would likely have joined the bucking stone of the tunnel. She leaped back with inhuman speed and grace, a blur of red and black cloth as the ravaged, yet clearly discernable, head of a dragon forced itself through the doorway where she had stood seconds ago.

The glossy orbs that were held in its festering eye sockets danced with amusement as the two vampires scrambled back and Mortis stood, the relentless assault of the otherworldly Soul Cairn and his own doubts having taken a severe toll on his ability to take decisive action.

His blade was held limp in his hand as his mind raced, pouring over options, facts and opinions, rights and wrongs, plans and doubts all clamoring and churning like a frantic mob amongst the maddening wails and shrill shrieks beating on his ears.

Did he stand his ground and charge, trust in his armor to shield him as he usually did? Would he flee to the other side and consolidate in a better position? But what of the vampires, could they run fast enough, should he even bother to preserve their lives, did they deserve to-

The rotten maw of the dragon opened, its voice as tattered as the strips of flesh and skin hanging from its bones as it spoke three words Mortis had heard many times. They boomed and reverberated down the narrow hall, the whirlwind of obscurity clashing in his mind blasted aside as the dragon prepared to bathe the stone passage in an unholy inferno.

Time seemed to slow as he saw Valerica stumble in her scramble backwards, the murderous jaws of the dragon opened wide, the ravaged grey flesh of its tongue twisting dancing, words of power to give blazing inner fire birth to reality. _Too late. It's too late. _

He was moving now, at a snail's pace and as slowly as everything around him, the air having calmed, the mist outside frozen still, muscles ponderously coming to life beneath dented armor as the steely fist of war clenched down on the chaos.

The first shot, the rolling thunder of artillery, a torrent of ethereal flame lashing forth from the dragon roiled down the corridor. And Valerica stood directly in its way.

The flame parted, the enemy's initial attack broken and scattered across the hallway, ravenous tongues of orange fire lapping against the steadfast ward of an old vampire. Old, but hardly feeble.

There was no thought now, no surprise at her lightning quick reaction that had saved the life of her and her daughter, only the sole instinct that cried for the head of the deathly abomination before them on a platter.

The stone beneath him rumbled as his boot pushed down, his blade held high and glistening in the dancing fire as he leaped over the quickly buckling form of Valerica and into the fray.

_Cleanse and purge. _

The rolling pillars of flame were suddenly cut, snuffed and suffocated as Mortis brought the heavy blade of his claymore crashing down into the dragon's forehead. Its words of power were reduced to a primitive and savage roar as the tempered ebony split apart foul flesh and bone, cutting a jagged gash down its skull and through the side of its jaw. Loose and dangling scales hanging around the exposed patch of flesh were sloughed off in the wake of the heavy slash, tiny armored shards flung through the air with the fountain of rancid gore that erupted from the wound.

Mortis moved quickly, ignoring the spray of the sickly green sludge against his armor as he swiftly sidestepped the maw of gnashing teeth that shot forward in an attempt to swallow him whole; it seemed that Serana had recovered as well, as the lapping grey tongue of the dragon instead tasted a stream of fire and stinging lightning.

It snarled and sputtered as it reared its battered head back, narrowly dodging another slash of Mortis' blade before yanking itself out of the hall.

He remained on edge, muscles tense under layers of ceramite, his claymore held in front with both hands should the beast return. Heavy breathing echoed down the hall behind him as Valerica struggled to recompose herself after the dragon's assault. Her daughter's irate voice soon boomed out, breaking the brief moment of uncomfortable silence.

"What the hell was that?"

Mortis held his position, but cast a cautious glance back towards the commotion. Anger was etched in Serana's pale face as she glared at her mother, waiting expectantly for a response. He doubted she would do anything rash, she always had seemed to be fairly logical and composed before, but it never hurt to be prepared.

Her mother said nothing, raspy breaths pumping her chest up and down as she laid against the wall and tried avoid her daughter's accusing gaze.

She was speaking again, continuing relentlessly but Mortis paid no heed this time as the distant form of the dragon outside caught his gaze. It was perched high above the mist shrouded grounds inside, tattered wings folded as it reared its head and let out a cry that shook the gravestones lining the grey earth below it.

In the moment of silence that followed, Valerica whispered something, dejectedly trying to calm her daughter. He heard nothing after the first word she spoke- no, not just one word, but three. Three words that echoed through him as he stared back out towards the perched dragon, three words that the voices from this distant grave chanted, three words that spoke the name of the creature.

'Curse Never Dying' – _Durnehviir_.

He inched closer to the hall's exit, narrowing his eyes as he watched the sea of fog shifting and churning with swirling purple light; he clenched his teeth and tightened his grip on the calloused handle of his weapon, commanding his mind to shut out the nonsensical images and voices that the very air seemed to inject into him.

One by one they rose, a fallen army of bleaching bones and rusted axes climbing from their ashen graves with puppet-like motion. There could have thousands, there could have been a dozen, but it was impossible to tell through the now pulsating strobe light across the lake of mist, the whispers from the grave reverting back to frenzied screams thundering against his eardrums.

They marched forwards simultaneously, in a wide column of shambling bones and rotten armored bodies jerking with animated awkwardness. The grounds were wide and they had some distance to close before reaching him, but the Soul Cairn's shroud upon his thoughts grew thicker with each rattling step, the shrieks rising in pitch with every creak of brittle bone.

The fog began to turn green, the feeble flesh and bone of the marching corpses morphing into chrome and alien hides, empty visages alight with drab neon light. Mortis' hearts skipped a beat as he saw the figure at the forefront of the column, the one that towered proudly over the rest, with an ornate headdress of twisted gold sitting upon the cold skull of its face, tattered cloak billowing behind the chrome skeleton of its body as it glared back at him.

_Away, away you damnable spirits! _

He tore his eyes from the maddening sight, managing to blink away the hellish hallucination as he reassured himself that such a thing was impossible. He had been there, had seen with his own eyes as High Marshal Helbrecht himself had pulled the cursed Stormlord to the grave with him on his dying breath.

The thought now only angered him, that the keepers of this cesspit Soul Cairn would dare pilfer his memories and use them against him. He growled as he eased back into the corridor, never taking his eyes off of the advancing lines of undead as he interrupted Valerica's monotone and morose speech to her daughter.

"A horde of undead approaches," he stated grimly. "Our only option appears to be to fight."

There was a pause as the two digested the information, one that did not last for long before Valerica spoke up.

"Then I see no other choice," she began. Taking a moment to compose herself, she turned to address her daughter again.

"I've kept the Elder Scroll in a case, located in a separate room along the far right wall of the courtyard outside. Take your companion with you, and make utmost haste to it and out of this place; I know not how long I will be able to hold these creatures at bay."

"What?"

"Serana," she pleaded, "you must do as I say. That dragon is here for me and me alone, and I will not allow my own daughter to die in a vain attempt to defend me."

The rattling and clanking of armor on bones drew closer now, and Mortis could almost make out the spindly forms of the hollow minions in the distant fog.

"…_death will come at the hands of the ancients…" _

Despite his best efforts he found himself lapsing back to the past, the dark stone corridor warping itself into the dark metal halls of the crypts beneath Mandragora's burning surface, the walls rumbling with the tumultuous thunder of war on the surface and the heavy boots of his Brothers filing across the wretched ground.

"Mother-"

"I cannot return with you, my daughter. It pains me more than you know to have to part with you once more, but I have no choice."

"But I can't just leave you here to die!"

"_Brother Mortis, have you lost your wits!? Move!" _

He stiffened at the voice, for it was one he knew well. Standing before him in the abyssal depths of the Necron Tomb World was a spitting image of Chaplain Otho, embroidered armor adorned with scars and burns just as it had been on that fateful day.

He snarled and lashed out with his claymore, the vision shattering like the bones and armor of the skeletal minion that clambered into the corridor in his moment of weakness. _Nobody_, no tainted spirit could ever hope to imitate the prideful and powerful stride of Father Otho.

The argument between mother and daughter behind him grew more urgent and heated as a small vanguard of the undead column began to file in through the hallway, hissing and scraping their jagged weapons along the wall as they advanced.

"Serana-"

"No. I'm not leaving you here to die, even if you won't return with me I'm not just going to abandon my own mother!"

"You'll die!"

"_I don't care!" _

Valerica faltered at such a shocking outburst, dumbstruck at the bold claim; questions raced through Mortis' own mind but he paid them no heed as he strode forward and cleaved the foremost wrathman in two with a single swing.

Too much was going on, too many thoughts and doubts to consider, too many voices and memories to shut out, too many things all clamoring for the attention of his mind and the barrier he had erected against them was eroding quickly.

His next swing halted in mid-arc as the shambling form of the next target was warped into that of Brother Gunther, the hulking suit of Terminator armor encasing him adorned with medals and purity seals as he had rounded a bend in the labyrinthine bowels of the Tomb World.

Cursing, Mortis pulled back and it was the resounding clash of an aged battleaxe on the refined ebony edge of his claymore that snapped him back to reality.

"We've been running and hiding for so damned long, I'm sick of it! If Father wants our blood that badly then he can come diving in here himself to take it from our charred corpses if we fall to a cursed, living fossil!"

Before he could finish off the recoiling wrathman, a spear of ice split its helm and embedded itself in the dead flesh between its empty eye sockets. Two blazing comets followed in its wake, soaring over the buckling corpse and exploding further down the hall, incinerating the pair of undead behind it.

In the crackling firelight cast by Brother Gunther's flamer stood Zacharias, leading the way through the narrow corridors and carving apart neon lit, plated bodies, the bark of storm bolters echoing further back as the rear guard blasted apart the very warriors he felled moments earlier when they rose back up.

"Serana-"

"Mother, you're all I have left now. If I leave you here to die on your own, I…"

She trailed off, sniffling just barely audibly as her mother continued to sit in dumbfounded silence.

With the hallway cleared for the time being and his thoughts starting to piece themselves together again, Mortis turned his attention back to the two. His twin hearts were beating with an urgency as he could already hear the rattling bones of another group of undead, his memories still clawing at the periphery of his thoughts while his two companions were caught in a web of emotions.

The situation could not have been any more dire; perhaps a wise decision would be to simply retrieve the scroll on his own. He stamped out that thought as quickly as it surfaced, since doing so would still require him to fight through a horde of undead and deal with the dragon on his own, and it would be far more logical to even just use the corridor as a chokepoint.

Chokepoint. Chokepoint. He pondered over the word, letting it roll around in his head and hearing it in a myriad of different voices.

It was accompanied by the staccato booms of a bolter, the searing rush of promethium, battle cries amplified by vox casters echoing down a dark and narrow hallway-

He let out a ragged breath he'd not realized he had been holding in, tightening his grip on his blade as though it were the only thing keeping him from slipping into insanity, the last piece of driftwood that kept him afloat over the tide of Oblivion.

He cast another glance back at the vampires, but they were faring no better. Not even looking at each other anymore, they simply stared blankly at different spots in the black stone hallway, slumped against the wall in dejection.

Was this how it would end then? Driven to insanity in an otherworldly plane, with two heretics too drained of their motivation to fight, his soul, now in tatters to become the plaything of some nameless gods?

"_Brother Castellan, your orders?"_

The metallic scraps and corpses of hundreds upon hundreds of Necrons lined the halls, precious bolter shells blasting them apart again and again as they rose back up in droves, an unending horde of silent death creeping through the maze of catacombs.

"_We hold position." _

Morale was low, for though each and every one of his Brothers knew that they would die, despite the fact that none feared the reaper, it was the fear of failure that drove them around the labyrinth in circles, despair in even Castellan Zacharias' voice when he had spoken evident through his stoic helm. 

Eventually they had simply halted, ducked into a dead end alcove, slumped against the walls with half empty bolters aimed with as much fury and zeal as the mindless machines stalking them, the steady clank and clatter growing louder with each step.

"_What cowardice is this, Brothers?" _

His hearts flared at the voice, the maelstrom of nonsensical screams calmed as Father Otho, his speech booming with baritone clarity, silenced all else.

"_The enemy awaits us! Raise your arms and-" _

"_Our ammunition is nearly depleted. We are cut off from all reinforcements and all other squads deployed in this sector are dead. We have only this bomb to deliver to a room that is impossible to locate in this twisted alien maze. If we are not able to fulfill our duty, then I will grant my Brothers as dignified a death as I can, fighting to the end here rather than be gunned down like rats being chased through a tunnel." _

Mortis did not fight the memory this time, forgot all else as he let the dim neon green of the Mandragora crypts flood his conscience once more. He latched onto Otho's voice, even though the figures of his Brothers were blurred and unrecognizable, his voice, his prayer, was all he needed.

"_There is no dignity in senseless sacrifice, Castellan. If you will not carry out the Emperor's will…" _

He had expected Otho to threaten the man, press the still blackened muzzle of his bolter against the Castellan's head, but he did no such thing. Instead, the bolter clattered to the ground as he stalked over to the slumping form of the bomb carrier, and snatched the bulky, spherical shell in one hand, the other holding his Crozius high.

"…_then I will." _

"And so will I," whispered Mortis as the memory faded, and the armored bulks of his Brothers were replaced by the slim, cloth wrapped figures of Valerica and Serana.

"_Carry the Emperor's will as your torch, with it destroy the shadows." _

The Emperor's light had shone bright in Otho that day and it had led them deep into the bowels of Mandragora and back out. Today, it would lead him out of this hell. It was all he had.

"Stand," he commanded.

They gazed back at him emptily, both pairs of ruby red eyes nearly identical side by side.

"You said you would fight to the end," he said sternly. "And yet now you lie and cower as though you were waiting for these hordes of animated corpses to take your lives."

"What's the damn point?" Snapped Valerica. "You think felling a dragon is like killing just any creature? You can smash and burn and perforate its body all you like, but it'll just keep coming at you so long as its soul is intact. And this one is a puppet of the Ideal Masters, you could Dragonborn for all I care and still, the best you'd be able to do is beat him until his flesh is no more. We're going to die. Might as well make peace with it while we still can."

"If beating it into a pulp is the best we can do," interjected Serana, "then that's exactly what we'll do."

"That's it then? That's our plan?"

"Better than all this talk of lying down and dying," she fired back. "I told you, I'm done with running and hiding. You were just moments ago willing to go down fighting- well, so am I. I already said it, and I'll say it again. I'm not leaving you here to die."

A tense moment of silence passed, Mortis watching with anticipation as Valerica heaved a heavy sigh, and stood back up, her face hard set with determination.

"I suppose," she began, "a dragon is still a dragon. This one may hide behind a horde of its shambling minions, but I know its pride is no different from any other's. We goad it into facing us on the ground, and its old and feeble body will melt to our spells soon enough."

"And just how will we do that?" Inquired Serana.

Mortis was more than happy to offer his suggestion.

**0-0-0**

When he found himself tearing out of the caves of Mandragora and tumbling out onto its seared and charred surface, a great battle cry rising in his throat and echoing out from the vox-casters behind him, he did not fight the memory.

He let it flow through him, the mist, hued green or violet, no longer obscuring his sight as the flashing intensity of battle cleared all for him. It had been the final push, he remembered, the Black Templars' finest and most devastating hour, a battle to be remembered for centuries.

The chrome skeleton of a Necron warrior fazed away into feeble rotting flesh as the razor edge of his blade cleaved into the creature, rending through its putrid grey stomach and splitting it in two.

The tattered remains of Zacharias' strike team emerged from the catacombs at the last possible moment when all hope had seemed lost, a great and thunderous _boom _that shook the entire Tomb World to its dank core roiling forth with their victorious shouts, bombs deep in the tainted earth shattering pillars and stone, and bringing the very rock that housed the Necron crypts down upon them.

The black veiled frame of a boneman was smashed like clay with a single stroke, inky mist blossoming from its crumpling form.

Ice clashed on metal in the distance, spears of magical frost lancing through the silver skin of machines undying, bolt shells and searing plasma shattering the shambling bodies of the undead.

Two more fell, the crunch of bone against blade the only thing Mortis registered before lunging forth into another pack of the marching dead.

With every target destroyed, two more came to take its place; but the Necron crypts had been shattered, and the Stormlord itself, the wretch that slipped through their grasp too many times before now faced its end at the raging blades of the Black Templars.

He batted aside a crumpling sword and sheared through the parchment thin skin of another shambling corpse with a single stroke. A Flayed One leaped at him through the turmoil of battle, only to have its fleshy parody of a body split in two as Mortis pivoted with his blade extended.

A score of bleaching flesh and bone erupted in an inferno, whether it was that of blessed promethium or of heathenous sorcery he could not tell.

He and his Brothers carved their way through the Necron horde, exhausted arms batting aside crumpling and perforated frames, zealous fire driving them closer and closer towards their battered High Marshal.

_"Brother! Watch the skies!" _

Wings spread wide like aged leather, ravenous maw dripping with putrid fluid and sharpened talons glinting wickedly in the kaleidoscope of green and purple, Durnehviir made his descent.

Mortis leaped out of the looming shadow, the claws that had meant to rake him across the back smashing into ashen earth instead.

_"With me Brothers! For the Emperor!" _

Time slowed to a crawl, in a brief moment of clarity he saw Valerica and Serana pivoting around, blazing spheres of magic held ready in their palms, the rotting shell of a dragon perched before him with its legs coiled and wings folded.

The final push. In the distance, high above the citadel upon an earthen mound of corpses, armored and metallic, there stood two titanic figures, each with blades held high in battle, their armor and bodies ravaged. There was Helbrecht, striking down the Stormlord in his final moments of a glorious life lived in service to the Emperor.

He was watching now, he could feel the eyes of him and his entire chapter upon him; and he would not disappoint them.

He lunged forwards before he even knew it, the tip of his blade aimed for the grinning maw of teeth that dared to mock him.

"FOR THE EMPEROR!"

Durnehviir, expecting the charge, pivoted ever so slightly, and the hardened ebony edge of Mortis' blade scraped and slid off of the diamond edged scales lining the dragon's right jaw.

He recoiled and brought up his blade in time to deflect a swipe of the creature's claw, the servo motors in his armor creaking with protest as the force of the stone shattering strike knocked him off balance.

A flurry of ice and fire bolts pelted its hide, but it paid little heed to the pricks and stings against its armored scales as it lunged forth with its other claw.

Talons slashed through little more than swirling fog as Mortis tumbled underneath the strike, lunging with his claymore upwards for the exposed yellow flesh of Durnehviir's neck. Again, the razor tip of the ebony blade scraped against hardened dragonscale in a shower of sparks as the cursed dragon retracted its head quickly.

Mortis growled as he leapt back again, a clawed fist smashing into the ground where he had stood moments before. But while he scored no meaningful strikes himself, he had given the two vampires off to the side an opening.

A primal roar erupted from its tattered tongue as a titanic lance of frost smashed through its armored hide, the razor tip of the ice slipping between its scales and ripping off a strip of rancid flesh as it punched through the other side.

Durnehviir pivoted, heedless of the putrid gore seeping from the wound in its side as it turned to face the vampires.

A grim smile graced Mortis' lips beneath his helm as he lunged for the patch of exposed flesh at the back of the dragon's left leg.

A satisfying crunch of ebony splitting aged bone followed by another shriek signalled that he had struck true. He followed through with the swing, grunting with exertion as he ripped his blade free, tearing a foaming gash through Durnehviir's flesh.

He ducked away as the dragon buckled on its wounded leg, whirling its snapping jaws around in an attempt to take him with its teeth. A shattering blow to its left brow sent it reeling back again, and the flesh of its neck was twisting, lolling with every movement.

Mortis saw his opportunity, and charged; a mistake that nearly cost him his life then and there.

As he thundered across the fog-swirled earth, blade outstretched before him, he saw the glint of malice in the dragon's dead white eyes, the flapping movement of its tattered tongue and ragged jaw, as it whispered three words.

Those three words brought the full might of madness upon him once more, the Soul Cairn tearing, ripping, eating, snarling and tunneling against his already sundered soul. He stumbled to a halt, falling to his knees before the Nurglite abomination, shaking and shivering as his weapon, that last piece of driftwood he was tethered to in the sea of Oblivion slipped from his grasp.

Pain without a wound, shrieks without sound, and the memories, the doubts, the thoughts without reason barreled through his conscience, his vision flickering with flashes of plasma and fire.

Why did he let her live? Did she deserve to die like the rest?

What would his Brothers think?

Where were his Brothers?

Did his Brothers yet live?

Otho… where was Father Otho?

Red and violet clawed at his vision, flashing green assaulting his senses.

_You abandoned them. _

Smoke and embers choked the skies, the bronze flesh of the Bloodthirster stained crimson with blood.

_You should have died by his side. _

The jeering cries of cultists, frenzied roars of bloodlust erupting from the vox-casters of the Traitor Legion, the hissing of daemons-

His vision was throbbing, a voice was calling, vying to be heard in the chaotic maelstrom and swirl of nonsense. What was it? What was it?

He blinked, a myriad of colours zipping by, red, purple, green-

Green. Green.

_"For the Emperor!" _

Blazing golden light, a plume of flame, silence.

What was it?

The currents tried to drag away again, but he latched on to the image, saw the blurred contours swirl around, again, and again.

Black and silver. Armor. Fluttering rags, and blood- Helbrecht!

Again, the light came, and the Marshal was incinerated in the cleansing flame, but he felt no loss at the death of him. Why?

_ …may we be so fortunate to return the favor for Him. _

Sacrifice. What had he sacrificed himself for?

_Nothing! He died aimlessly, just as you have!_

No. The Emperor's faithful died only in His name.

The waves ripped him away from the vision, but now he was in control, he steered the currents towards where he wanted, where he needed.

Rage, zealous fury beat in his hearts as he saw it now, that pillar of white light, the twisted arms protruding from the Sorcerer's back, burnt out eyelids of corpses watching from above-

They were watching him, his Brothers, and he could not shame them by falling now.

His vision cleared, his sense returned, and that voice, that one voice that had been clamoring for his attention, he heard it now.

_Dragonrend. _

His lips moved without feeling, his eyes gazed upward without thought, and he watched from his knees as Durnehviir reared back, convulsing and shivering with a mad frenziness.

For the first time in his existence, the dragon tasted mortality; every sphere of hellfire that splashed against his flesh now, every spike of frost that clipped his shredded wings, every tongue of lightning that rippled across its hide, he _felt _it.

Mortis commanded his arms to move, reach for the worn handle of his claymore just inches away, willed his legs to propel him forwards and deliver the final blow but they would not obey.

The fires in his heart were sapping, succumbing again not to madness but to exhaustion.

His fingers twitched ever so slightly, his arm-

Before he could do anything else, the weapon was snatched right out of his grasp.

He watched, disbelieving as the heretic- no, the vampire- no... _Serana_ hoisted the massive weapon over her shoulder and brought it down on the burning flesh of Durnehviir's head.

He knew not if she ever had experience handling such weapons, could hardly tell if she had even swung it with enough strength, but the crack of bone, the splitting of the dragon's skull was an uncontestable sound that reverberated through his fading consciousness.

_It's done. It's done. _

Helbrecht gave his life to ensure the destruction of the Stormlord, had brought the batteries of his own ship to bear on his location; the battle was over, the Necron Tomb World of Mandragora buried and glassed, and the Black Templars stood victorious over the metal corpses of their foes.

_Sleep. _

He didn't try to fight the voice this time.


	5. The Awakening Dreamland

**Well, here it is, the conclusion to Dust and Echoes. A helluva lot longer than I expected, but if there's one thing history'll teach you, it's that battles never end as quickly as you think they will :)**

**There'll be plenty more short stories and oneshots to come, but for now, do try to enjoy the end to this one. **

**0-0-0**

Serana huffed and panted as she mounted the steps leading back into the citadel, the soul gem containing her companion's partially trapped soul clutched between scraped and still bleeding fingers.

Both of her hands felt as though they were on fire now, she couldn't even remember which one she had nearly broken punching him before, and her legs may as well have been jelly with the weight of the massive claymore slung over her arched back.

Every soul had a fingerprint of sorts attached to it, and without a plausible reference there would've been no chance in Oblivion she could find the man's soul. His armor was locked to him tighter than scales clinging to a dragon, and she really didn't feel like risking another confrontation by taking one of the many trinkets dotting his belt that likely held some nostalgic value to him.

At least the sword seemed like the least important, but on reflection, maybe it hadn't been the best time to have been concerned about his personal sense of privacy.

_Gods DAMN it, _she growled internally, slipping on the last step up and feeling a spike of tingling pain shoot up her knee as it collided with the cold stone.

Grimacing, she took a moment's worth of heavy breathing to regain her composure before throwing herself up to the main platform, the double doors leading into that hellish stretch of confined tunnel in the citadel glaring impassively back at her.

_Ungrateful bastard, _she cursed. If he threw another tantrum like he did last time upon being woken up, then he could take his blade and ram it up his ass. That was, if he woke up at all.

That dragon had done quite some damage to his already weakened soul; it should have been simply sheared apart with that much power and left him as an empty husk, but there was definitely still life in him, that same tangy scent of warm blood she could still detect, even through the thick layers of impenetrable armor.

Her stomach growled at the thought, and she only then remembered it'd been some time since she even drank some of that gods awful blood potion concoction.

_Come on now, just a bit farther… _

Just as she planted her boot in the ground and began to ease herself up, just when she thought things couldn't get any worse, a flash of violet caught her eye, and she pivoted around, staring in horror at the sight that greeted her.

_No… gods no, how did he get back so damn quick!?_

Though concealed by the twirling wisps of purple flame, the hunched, predatory form of Durnehviir was clear as day to Serana.

The head emerged first, those glossy white orbs staring back at her menacingly, its tattered maw of teeth grinning mockingly back at her.

Whipping her head around, she tried to judge the distance between her and the door, wincing as she determined there was no way she could reach it in time.

Casting a worried glance back towards the dragon's rapidly reconstituting form, her heart dropped as she saw the last of the flames fade away.

_Damn it… Mother, WHY didn't you just tell me?_

At the very least, if she died here, then her father would never have her blood, and the Sun would be safe from his insane machinations. With that thought driving her, she tossed down the claymore burdening her aching back, letting it clatter to the stone in a cacophony of clanging.

_You said you would fight to the end. _

So she had. And so she would.

Her palms came alight with spheres of flame, and she narrowed her eyes, tensing her aching legs as the dragon opened its ravenous maw…

And spoke to her.

"_Drem. _Stay your magic, _Qahnaarin_. I seek no further conflict."

She stumbled back in surprise at its voice, booming and baritone, regal and proud despite the putrid throat it rumbled out of.

"I-I- what?"

Her response elicited a (yet surprisingly once more) hearty chuckle from the dragon.

"I did not take you for one to be hard of hearing. I wish only to speak."

She stammered, blinking in disbelief at what was happening. She was talking to a _dragon_; a creature of legend that she'd always been told as a little girl who wanted nothing more than to burn villages and devour whatever it saw fit to sate its insatiable hunger.

Finally regaining some sense of composure, she managed to sputter back a reply.

"Why are we talking? You just tried to kill me!"

"I believe in civility among seasoned warriors," he stated proudly. "My claws have rent the flesh of innumerable foes, but never have I been felled upon the field of battle."

Hesitantly, she began to right herself, rising slowly and cautiously, making sure not to make movements too sudden.

"You…" Her memory skipped for a second, jumping back to the very, very brief reading she'd had of some antiquated tome on the Dragon Language. Her mother had warned at the time that it was full of worthless speculation, and after some inspection of the text, she'd come to a similar conclusion.

_Qahnaarin… qahnaarin… _didn't ring any bells.

"You called me…" she licked her lips, taking a moment to remember how he had said it. "…_qahnaarin._"

The flash of amusement on the dragon's rotting face had her falter, for she knew she'd butchered the word horribly, but she continued on when he did not interrupt. She sure as hell was not going to be intimidated by a walking corpse now that it had sat down for tea with her.

"What does that mean?"

"As the one who delivered the final blow, I find it only fitting that I bestow you the title of _Qahnaarin_." It might've been her imagination, but she could've _sworn _the bastard was smirking when he said it, pronouncing each syllable with an emphasized, guttural drawl. Was she seriously being mocked by a damned zombie dragon?

"It translates to Vanquisher in your tongue. Though your _V__ahlok_ was the one who brought me to my knees, it was, after all, you who dealt the… 'killing' blow." A peal of laughter erupted from his mouth, as though he had found that last statement to be so amusing.

Still mildly bewildered, and more exhausted than anything, Serana eased herself over to a pillar and leaned against it for support as Durnehviir ceased his laughter.

"But… it would appear as though he had fallen. Yet you carry his _Sil_ with you. Is he well?"

"He's…" To be honest, she wasn't sure herself. But she knew better than to respond negatively to a dragon who appeared to showing some form of concern; then again, with such creatures, it was hard to tell. "…a little under weather."

Its face crinkled into a contortion, its scaled eyebrow raised. She couldn't help but smirk at his apparent confusion, a little bit of petty revenge for before.

"Just a figure of speech," she chirped nonchalantly. "He's alive, if that's what you're wondering."

"Ah, _krosis_. I… cannot say I am entirely well-versed in this tongue of yours."

_Well enough to make a fool of me. Smartass. _

"But I forget myself. I have a request for the _Dovahkiin_- your companion, if you will."

"I'm listening."

Durnehviir paused, gazing up into the abyssal vortex swirling up in the sky as though he were contemplating how to approach the issue before turning his attention back to her.

"Do you know why I hunt your _Monah_- your Mother- so vindictively?"

Her eye twitched at his inability to get to the point, but she supposed that was a question whose answer concerned her.

"I hadn't really thought about it…"

"I, like her, struck a deal with the Ideal Masters, long ago. I asked only for the ability, the power to command the _Diil_, the undead, to raise armies of my own to serve me. In exchange, I was to guard her until the last vestiges of life left her. Of course, they did not say that she herself was of the _Diil_, a vampire…"

"They tricked you."

He elicited a bitter chuckle. "Yes. Indeed. I am certain that you would have recognized that they have a particular gift for that."

"Why are you telling me all this?"

Durnheviir composed himself, his face and tone becoming steely and firm as he made his request.

"I yearn for the freedom of gliding through the skies of Nirn once more, to leave this place; I am _Durnehviir_, Curse Never Dying, my life tethered to this rotting pit, cursed to guard it for an eternity."

He stared her down, blank white eyes gazing into her own.

"The one you travel with, the _Dovahkiin_- he may be able to do what your Mother could not for I. He can set me free."

Serana's fingers twitched nervously at the dragon's sudden shift in tone, licking her lips in anxiousness.

"What do you need me to do then?"

"I know you will be leaving here soon. I may not be able to follow of my own accord, but _he_- convey my name to him. Tell him to call name, to shout it to the very stars upon Nirn, and I shall aid him however I can."

"That's it?"

"It may sound trivial to you, but it would grant me the freedom I hunger for."

He shifted upon his stone perch, leaning in his pointed mouth closer to her, close enough for her to see the dozens- _hundreds_ of scars marring its flesh.

"Please, carry out this request for me. You of all should know the pain I feel."

"How do you know that?" She snapped.

"Your Mother spoke much of you in her time here. She is rather _motmahus_- elusive- the most… irritating of prey for a _Dovah _such as I. At many times I grew tired of her charades, and attempted to… reason with her. Though unsuccessful in that sense, she did offer considerable insight in certain issues. We spent away many a day and hour simply debating."

"She talked about me though? What did she say?" She fired question after question at him, leaping forward from her perch at the pillar.

"She said much; I heard some, listened even less. A great philosopher she may be, but her confessions of guilt are woefully repetitive to a _Dovah _as old as I."

Breathless, Serana stood there listlessly as the words hit her like a ton of bricks.

_She cared. She really did care. _

"Does that satisfy you?"

She nodded blankly, the words still echoing over and over in her head.

"Then… you will do this for me? Deliver my words to the _Dovahkiin_?"

"Yes," she said shakily. "Yes, I will."

He gazed at her for a moment longer, then spread his leather wings, and let out a bellowing rumble of joy that shook the stone to its core.

"You give an old dragon hope, little one. Though my flesh yet remains dead and decaying, I feel younger than I have in many an age."

Whatever else he said before leaping off into the air, she didn't hear, for she had already heard all she needed.

**0-0-0 **

The waves lapped gently against the scarred hide of his armor, his eyes opening to a clear grey sky. Wispy clouds swirled and coalesced in unrecognizable patterns, a stagnant monochrome glow casting an earthly coolness over the moist air.

Time passed, seconds or days, years or decades, Mortis could not tell as the soft lakewater pooled around his form, lapping at his side, but never rising up beyond his elbows.

The muffled sloshing of water against the sides of his helm was all he heard as he stared blankly up into the sprawling sky, his helm's visage frozen in an impassive frown, its eyes welded open forever, never blinking as it gazed ever upwards. Caught in a limbo, neither above nor submerged in the grey sea, feeling and not feeling, thinking and not thinking.

The sky split, the thunder rumbled throughout the vast seascape, and he shot upwards into a sitting position, his heavy breaths echoing out of his vox-caster.

He stared down at the reflection of the frowning mouth grill of his helmet, its dimmed red eyepieces in the rippling water, testing his arms and limbs as though he'd never moved a muscle in his life.

Life.

_I am alive. _

He shakily reached up to his face, ceramite scraping on ceramite as his gauntleted fingers grazed against his scowling faceplate. Dented and scratched, the waistcloth that hung ever vigilantly over his armored legs frayed and of a faded dull maroon tint; all as it should have been.

_I am alive. _

He glanced around at his bleak surroundings, motors in his armor joints creaking like the metaphorical gears in his mind as he rose to his full height.

Nothing but a thousand shades of grey as far as the eye could see, the fluid wisps swirling about his boots flickering with pointless images, things, objects without names, memories without significance. He grunted with ire as he tried to focus in on them, only to have the elusive blurs of colour splash and zip away in the strobing ripples.

_Up. Get up. _

His glance snapped up at the sound of the voice, distorted and booming across the sea, garbled and warped, yet firm and familiar.

_Father? _

It rang out again, repeating the same command time and time again in a rolling wave of muffled thunder. It was not Otho.

It couldn't have been. The man was…

Mortis paused, eyes widening as his gaze shot up to the slate horizon, realization crashing down upon him in tidal wave as he finally began to remember, as though he had stumbling aimlessly through a curtain of unending fog that had suddenly been swept away.

The rain came down in peals, great rippling waterfalls crashing down around him and bearing hundreds upon thousands of images, the brutal red skies of battlefields torn asunder clashing with the serenity of open fields and snow kissed mountains, shattered ruins towering over peaceful and mundane huts.

Mesmerized and moving as though possessed by some force, he strode into the soft cascade, the clear water parting and sluicing soundlessly down the ravaged crags of his armor.

The visions became clearer now, the mist and droplets of soothing water clearing aside through the mirror smooth reflections.

Rolling plains of mottled shrubs, spires of mountains looming on the distant horizons, a fortress- a palace- standing tall and proud alongside them, rising up from the plains to touch the sky. Dragonsreach.

Another structure, a temple, a monastery, aged grey stone crusted with a thin sheen of frost, the cool wind of the sky whipping against its old walls, the great pillars holding high and proud up towards the winter night; High Hrothgar.

The serene and calm images washing over him, pictures of peace and nature, did little more than stir the mounting tides of dread beginning to lap at his boots. He wanted to turn back, but the currents carried him onwards, some intangible force pushing him through shimmering screen after screen of the watery images.

There was a dock, morning mist swirling around the molded wooden pillars.

A gust of chilled air, a sprinkle of frost, and then he was striding through the regally furnished hall of a palace, torches casting a majestic golden glow over the ancient stone.

His hand slowly and instinctively reached out to touch the stone; the motion felt familiar, taken from a memory. The image broke apart as his ceramite clad fingers brushed against the water sheen, and he reluctantly marched through the cascade of water.

When the droplets of liquid cleared from his vision, his hearts dropped, a great feeling of wrongness filling the bottom of his stomach.

Craggy spires rose above the thin fog, moss encrusted rock boxing in the thin streams, gnarly trees dotting the jagged land sparsely. He knew this place well, and could feel what was coming.

Why, Emperor why, was he seeing this, now of all times?

His legs moved without his command, sloshing across the last metres of roiling water, and into the Reach.

**0-0-0**

It had been a moist and humid morning, he remembered, the droplets of the previous night's rain hanging in the cool mist amongst the gnarled branches and thorny leaves of the trees hanging over the riverbed. The birds were chirping, their song twisted into eerie wails as they echoed down the jagged canyons, the first rays of the morning sun blotted out and smothered by the hanging fog.

It had been the beginning of his campaign in the Reach; the beginning of the death of an entire history, the death of a culture, a people, the death of hundreds of thousands of men, women, and children- of _heretics_.

It had been the beginning of the death of the Forsworn.

The faces of the men under command were blurred now, dirt streaked or hidden beneath the leather and metal of their helmets, but even in this twisted memory, he could still hear, see, feel their utter devastation as they poured barrel after barrel of liquid fire down the craggy throats of cave mouths.

Corpses that had been smothered and crushed into ash by flame in the past now floated past him in the stream of memories, empty charred eyes staring up into the grey sky.

Their screams came next as the currents pulled him into the encampments beneath Karthspire, the dull cloth dangling from his waist now bright crimson with the blood of innoce- heretics- (for there was no such thing as innocence…), even the assembled Blades, who looked so cold and uncompromising in their steel armor, shifted uncomfortably and winced with untempered disgust at the brutal destruction.

Everywhere he looked, he was greeted with horrified gazes or open-mouthed shrieks of agony:

A coven of witches, their spindly and mangled flesh feeding the raging fire that ravenously consumed the screaming Hagraven that had been heaped on with the rest of the corpses; a sobbing woman hunched over the brutalized corpse of her husband, her own clothes in tatters, her skin bruised and cut, screaming for the mercy of a quick death even as his troops dragged her away and hurled her crumpling body into a raging inferno; as the campaign had dragged on, the results of the rapes he saw only grew more brutal and debased, the victims ranging from old witches to bright eyed children, their ragged lips begging for mercy, wailing even through the crackle of cleansing fire. Even those that he led, filthy and debased heretics the lot of them, gaping in horror at the severed head of their comrade that he had held high for all to see.

Even the sumptuously furnished palaces and manors in Markarth, gloriously carved Dwemer metal and stone had not escaped the fires of the crusade, for corruption had wormed itself deep into the veins of the land.

Mortis saw the hard gaze of Ralof through the hellish orange glow, his eyes dancing like the angry embers that poured from the warrens and mines.

The corrupt and greedy were piled high in the streets, silver blood running hotly down the streams that lined the stone ground. The entire city guard, persecuted and purged for their corruption, the incompetent and gold-fatted conspirator, Thonar, dragged out of his reeking and tainted silk bed, kicking and screaming alongside those he had once thought his slaves.

Hollow in spirit they had been, stuffed to the brim with the luxuries they'd gorged themselves on, in the end no more human than a lifeless effigy or doll.

The fires had spared none that had been tainted, those few that remained after the bloody week shivering and sobbing with disgust, glaring at his soot and ash stained armor with fear and anger.

Mortis clenched his teeth and fists, the outer shell that all saw still as impassive and merciless as it had been all those months ago.

No pity. No remorse.

What was done was done; these images should have meant nothing to him now.

_Move forward. _

The voice rang out again, icy cold as the current shifted again and the raving fires in the Reach were washed away.

_Look at this. Look very closely, and take in every detail. _

Hundreds of thousands of bodies, empty and lifeless, chained to marble pillars and gazing back at him with the same blank and hollow gaze as the Forsworn. The stairs were slicked with blood, a ring of mangled children barely visible at the top-

His eyes widened as he finally recognized where he was, saw the twisted and corrupted armor of the Sorcerer.

He did not need the current to carry him this time, bounding up the marble steps thoughtlessly and effortlessly, his arms reaching out and gripping the heretic scum in a stranglehold-

The fallen Astartes whipped around to face him, and when Mortis saw his adversary in his true form, he froze.

His armor shined in the blazing firelight, not a single scratch or scar marring its smooth surface, a blood red waistcloth flowing about his belt, his face, his _helmet_, drawn in the same hate-fueled snarl that was etched in his own.

The illusion came crashing down upon him like the marble pillars as they crumbled away, revealing the fire-painted cave walls of the Reach once more, the shadow of the Astartes before him, none other than he himself, Sword Brother Mortis, blotting out the crumpled forms of the murdered.

_Murdered. Murderer. _

The voice boomed out again, baritone and accusing, and Mortis finally realized that it was his own.

_You murdered them all. And now you're going to murder even more. _

He grit his teeth, righteous fury flaring at the baseless accusations, the reflection of his scarred armor dancing in the firelit water as he strode angrily towards the shade that dared to imitate and accuse him.

_Murderer. _

He faltered in his step when he saw them; their skin had been charred and scorched and their forms difficult to make out in the shadow of his mirror image, but their sobs carried a painful sense of familiarity to them, their tearful whisperings conjuring up… other, more… recent images.

They were nipping at him, the edge of his periphery, blurred and ever yet elusive. He ignored them, instead fixing his burning gaze at the foul creature taking his image.

_Are these women to burn as well?_

They were heretics like the rest of the Forsworn he had killed; of course they were.

_"Mother!"_

He faltered again at the voice echoing above the crackling flame, his arm hanging limply in mid- air, mere inches away from the collar of the armor his imitation wore.

A hand, paper white, grasped feebly at his scraped and chipped kneepad, the bony fingers far too familiar, the chill of its undead flesh freezing him in place.

He glanced down at the woman who held it out, the blood red eyes of the vampire staring back at him, another one- (her mother…) with her arms wrapped around her cowering frame.

Heretics.

_Innocents. _

Ceramite clashed on ceramite, and the last thing Mortis saw was his own faceplate rocketing into his vision.

The tide rose up, and soon he was rising with the water, rushing up towards the splitting sky.

**0-0-0 **

There were very few times he had experienced unconsciousness before; on the battlefield, it was either death or victory. No Black Templar should lapse into the lull so long as the raging fires of fervor still beat in the twin hearts.

He'd been through it before regardless though, for it happened to everyone, just not particularly often; it was hardly a comforting process, waking up usually naked upon a cold metal bed, stripped of his armor, his skin, sometimes opening his eyes to the same ravaged sky he had seen before he had fallen.

Never had it been as abrupt as this.

When he broke the surface of rising currents, the blinding light that the mottled clouds had hidden from him blazing up in the approaching sky, the world around came rushing back in a violent purple tide to wake him from his slumber.

He moved not a single muscle, sucking in a deep breath through the grill of his helmet, his mind racing to join him in reality.

"That's it. Looks like he'll be okay now."

His arm twitched in the ashen earth at the voice, the familiarity of it calling his instincts to scream at him, his fingers grasping at the plains of grey dust around him for his weapon.

His memory tripped when she – Serana (yes, that was her name…) stepped into his view, that inhuman, dead, pale face with two blazing red embers sitting in their eye sockets blotting out the abyssal sky.

"You alright?"

He glanced down at himself, half expecting, half _hoping_ to find himself spread out on the sterile white examination bed of the medical bay, safe in the strike cruiser, able to lean his head back knowing that he would live to fight again, for the Emperor would decide when it was fitting for him to give his life. The hardest part would be the waiting though, hours, sometimes days crawling by with only a thin gown to shield himself with as his armor was repaired-

But he did not need to concern himself with that. No, not at all, for he was not lying on a sterile bed in the comfort of the strike cruiser, he would not be joining Father Otho for the evening prayer and sitting down with him afterwards to tell him the maddening dreams implanted in his mind by the Ruinous Powers.

He was still where he had dreaded to be, lying in the slate ash of the Soul Cairn, following some heretic in her mad quest…

_…a resource. An asset. _

Who was the puppet now, he wondered? He'd thought that he and the rest of the Dawnguard had been in control, merely using her to end this blasphemous prophecy, and in the end he had defended her and her mother.

_A necessary sacrifice, _he told himself. Their cooperation had been vital to the objective.

"Hey," she called, snapping him back to attention. He grunted, easing himself back up to full height, the joints of his armor creaking as he rose slowly. He blinked away the blur in his vision, shaking his head to clear the faint dizziness that usually plagued one after being unconscious.

Yes, they were using her. That was all. She was still the puppet, as she'd always been to even her own family. Somehow, the thought unsettled him. Smoke and mirrors, puppeteering; those were the preferred tools of Traitors and heretics, not of the Emperor's faithful.

He brushed it aside, despite the chilling inner voice that continued to reverberate in his ears.

_You can't keep running forever. _

He glared down at Valerica, her thin fingers wrapped around an ornate roll of parchment, the mere presence of the thing sending an uneasy chill down his spine. So she'd lived up to her end of the bargain after all; now all that remained was what would transpire next.

"What happened?" He unconsciously began to reach for his blade, normally sheathed at the back of his waist, only to remember that it was no longer there when his gauntleted fingers brushed only against the unearthly air of the Soul Cairn.

_Damn it. _

"The dragon- Durnheviir- did… something with your soul. I've read most of what little's been written on him, and it only vaguely mentioned his ability to rip the soul out of a living being."

He ground his teeth together as he caught the ruby flash of her eyes, just like her damned daughter's as she looked him over.

_Heretics. _

_ Innocents. _

Of course now he understood what all those visions, those images he saw before meant. It was, after all, the question he'd been asking himself since he'd seen Serana's mother; the problem was, he still had no answer, and soon, he realized, he would have to give one.

_You can't keep running forever. _

_ Damn you! Silence!_

"Obviously it didn't exactly work on you, though it was enough to keep you unconscious for some time."

"How long?"

She let out a sharp chortle before continuing. "Time has no meaning for anyone in the Soul Cairn, even less so for a vampire such as I."

She paused for a moment, the faintest hint of nostalgia seeping into her voice as she finished. "I still remember that moment I stepped into here, that utter loss of feeling, descending down the stone steps and leaving all I knew behind, so vivid, all of it, as though it had happened yesterday, or in a dream…"

A shaky sigh escaped her lips.

"That said, you didn't come out entirely unscathed."

"How bad was it?" The feeling of dread sitting at the bottom of his stomach was joined by a flare of instinctive anger when she winced slightly, her daughter's voice drifting back over. What had they done with him?

"I had to put your soul back inside you. The fragment that I trapped to get you in here in the first place."

Serana had spoken evenly and sternly, as though she were expecting another argument. Mortis pivoted around slowly to face her, briefly considering the implications of her statement as he stared back into her ghastly red eyes.

She'd tampered with his spirit even more, then. How did he know he was even alive anymore? For all he knew, she could've simply raised him as an empty corpse, a zombie, with her corrupted sorcery as he'd seen her do many times before. He noticed now, for the first time, the sheeny surface of a claymore, _his _blade, slung across her back.

His fingers twitched, but he made no move. And neither did she, to return what belonged to him.

"I see," he stated flatly.

Having composed herself, Valerica butted back in, steering the conversation back into her control.

"It matters not. What does matter is that, somehow, you're still alive, and Durnehviir has been put down for the time being."

He sighed, nodding silently as he repeated those words in his mind. Whatever heretical ritual or sorcery Serana may have used to bring him back, it didn't matter. He was alive, and he was in control of his thoughts.

_If only you'd use that power to sort everything out. _

"Now you must leave."

He stared blankly down at the scroll as she held it out, mind racing to remember and comprehend what she'd said.

"You're not coming with us?" He queried.

Her face hardened, her grip on the scroll becoming more taut.

"I've already told my daughter that much, and I am standing by my decision. It's too dangerous for me to leave. Th-"

She halted abruptly, biting her lip in the brief moment of hesitation. He thought he saw her exchange a quick glance with her daughter, but flicking his eye to the corner of his vision he saw Serana staring at the ground, looking about as somber as he would've expected.

"Durnehviir will be back soon. He's only here for me and I won't endanger my daughter or you by attempting to leave this place."

"And Serana agreed to this?" He asked with a hint of suspicion. "She was rather adamant about staying here to defend you," he observed flatly.

"I can handle myself. These ruins are expansive and offer much cover from the skies; Durnehviir could scour this place for an eternity and never so much as catch a glimpse of me."

She thrust the scroll further towards him, the artifact nearly touching the battered silver skull embedded in his chestplate.

It would be so easy, he reflected, to snatch the scroll out of her hand and dispose of her; an Astartes was never without a weapon so long as he drew breath.

Time seemed to slow to a slogging crawl as he began to analyse the situation, dozens of battle plans forming in his mind, ideal combat maneuvers, position… Valerica's form was light and unarmoured, the same applying to her daughter. It wouldn't take much to crush or pulp either with a well-placed punch. Though if he took down Serana first and retrieved his blade, it could be easier to deal with her mother; and since Valerica was the one bearing the scroll, it would take her longer to compose herself and brace for his attack-

_Stop. Take the scroll. _

His gaze snapped up to Valerica's face; despite the clear aging of it, it was disturbingly similar to her daughter's, sharp and alert, eyes burning with a fiery determination.

Just a mother and her daughter, wasn't it?

He closed his eyes, whispering a prayer for forgiveness as his hand reached out and clasped firmly around the scroll.

Clipping it to his belt on the back of his waist, he turned to face Serana, intending to make a quick exit.

Their business in the Cairn concluded, she unslung his weapon from her back, gripping the massive weapon that was almost as tall as her with both hands and offering it back to him, hilt first.

"It's a nice sword," she chirped, "but not my style."

He ignored the light barb, frown deepening when he saw the smirk on her lips and instead hastily took the blade back into his possession.

"Let us leave this place," he said. "The sooner we return to the Fort, the better."

Her smiling mask sputtered and faltered, and following her wistful gaze to her mother's somber visage, he could predict what she would ask next.

If a vampire mother was still a mother as she said, then a vampire daughter was still a daughter. Emperor, what was the world coming to?

"Before we go, could I-"

"Make it quick," he interrupted, doing his best not to snarl.

_Heretics, both of them! Blasphemers! Mutants! Parodies of the human form, hiding behind this false veil of a family, trickery and lies, all of it!_

He paid the raging and raving voice no heed, stepping aside as Serana abandoned any composure she had been hoping to maintain and rushing into her Mother's arms.

He watched them, a mask of contempt etched in his helmet, his teeth bared beneath the sneering mouth grill, but with another bout of uncertainty clawing within.

The prayer book hanging by his belt felt heavy as his thoughts turned once more to Father Otho, those last, precious few moments they had had to confide in each other one more time, ready to accept their respective fates.

He himself had been like that, in a way, never imagining that his composure could break so easily.

Valerica's eyes were growing glossy now as well as she cradled her daughter's head against her breast, lanky fingers stroking softly through the midnight black hair.

_Emotion is powerful, Mortis. Remember that. _

_ Yes, Father. _

_ It can cripple even the most seasoned warrior, the most jaded and cold of killers in the most crucial moments; you must remember, we and the rest of our Brothers are used to working and fighting only alongside each other. The Imperial Guard's faith and devotion may burn as bright as ours, but they are still human. _

Human.

It was ironic, in a sense, how even though humanity was the pinnacle of existence as decreed by the Emperor Himself, it suffered from so many glaring flaws. Why He chose to champion them, he could not know; but it was not his station to decide.

They were almost finished now, their quiet sobbing reduced to short bouts of sniffling as they exchanged their goodbyes in whispers, some empty promises that may or may not end up being fulfilled slipping out.

He sheathed his blade on his back, looking away and diverting his gaze back to the portal in the distant horizon, little more than a blazing violet dot.

Still breathing heavily, her eyes ever slightly sparkling with tears yet to have dried, Serana stepped up next to him.

With what he'd seen, she was as human as any other Imperial citizen.

As the smallest fissure opened in the dam that held back memories of Otho, he swallowed a lump in his throat and motioned her forwards, taking the lead with long strides.

Even with all their conditioning and genetic tampering, he supposed Astartes were still human as well.


End file.
